


No Place Like Home

by Ruusverd



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Game Geralt AND Show Geralt, Game and show crossover, Gen, I wish these guys had separate tags, Jaskier AND Dandelion, Jaskier apologizes, Jaskier has some apologizing to do, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, you read that right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 40,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruusverd/pseuds/Ruusverd
Summary: Feeling depressed and slighted after the Mountain, Jaskier makes the mistake of venting to a mysterious merchant of mirrors, who "helps" him fix his relationship with the witcher. For a price, of course.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 199
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I keep seeing people say "Oh, Game Geralt would never be so cruel to poor little innocent Jaskier" and while I agree Game Geralt is a very kind man, he's not shy about calling people on their shit, including Dandelion. He definitely wouldn't let Jaskier walk all over him the way Netflix Geralt (begrudgingly) does. So I decided to play around with what I think would *actually* happen if Jaskier got transported to the Witcher 3 world.
> 
> Thanks to Stressedspidergirl for beta reading my one-shot that turned into a monster!

Jaskier sighed gloomily, staring at his drink. He'd made his way back to the Pensive Dragon after Geralt had so forcefully sent him away, and was now determined to drink and wallow in his misery until he felt better or passed out, whichever came first. He idly considered all the songs of betrayal and heartbreak he would be writing in the near future, as soon as he stopped being drunk, but for once even the prospect of new inspiration couldn't cheer him up.

"Well don't you look miserable, my friend." A man sat down across the table from Jaskier, smiling pleasantly.

"Who are you?" Jaskier appraised his new companion. Middle-aged, bald, stocky, wearing a plain brown tunic with blue stripes on the sleeves. Very average-looking. Almost remarkably unremarkable, Jaskier mused, pleased with the cleverness of the phrase.

"Oh, just a traveling merchant, making my living on the road. Not too different from a traveling bard, I expect." The man nodded at Jaskier's lute. "What has you looking so glum on such a fine day?"

Jaskier scowled. "My best friend," he spat, suddenly more angry than morose, "told me I caused all of his problems, and that it would be his life's greatest blessing if I left!So I did, I left!” Jaskier picked his cup up just so he could slam it back down. “I can’t believe he would treat me like that! After all I did for him, too! I made him famous! Well, he was already famous, but I made him good-famous! Or better-famous, anyway!" Jaskier swayed under the force of his gestures and wondered briefly if he'd had too much to drink. He pictured Geralt's furious face and words and decided no, actually he needed to drink some more. A lot more.

"Sounds like your friend isn't very grateful." The man said sympathetically.

Jaskier nodded emphatically. "Twenty-two years! Twenty-two years, I followed that man, off and on. Half my life! I wrote songs about him! I know he hated the songs, and I did tend to stray from the facts the tiniest bit and it annoyed him, but that's only because the uncultured heathen doesn't understand art!"

"A shame, how little most folks appreciate good music." The man propped his chin in his hand with his elbow on the table, listening to what Jaskier was saying.

"Exactly! No one wants to hear a song about a witcher who fights some monstery thing in a dark, stinking sewer and then gets cheated out of his pay! Or one who just lets the monster go! They want to hear ballads of a valiant hero slaying the enemies of humanity in battle! The enemy of their enemy is their friend! Hoorah for the glorious White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia!" Jaskier caught the edge of the table just in time to prevent himself from falling sideways.

"I'd say your White Wolf is a pretty poor friend indeed. Someone should show him what he's throwing away, make him appreciate you more." The man seemed unsurprised by the identity of Jaskier's muse. "I could help you reconcile with your surly friend, you know."

Jaskier squinted suspiciously. "How, exactly, would you do that?"

The man waved his hand dismissively. "I have a bit of magic. You might say I’m a specialistin giving people what they want. That is a merchant’s job, after all.”

“And you think you could fix things, with me and Geralt?”

“I’m positive! Easy as pie! Of course, I don’t work for free, but I’ll tell you what. Just for you, I’ll trade a favor for a favor. Here’s the deal: I'll help you fix your relationship with Geralt of Rivia, make him seem like a whole different person, and someday you'll do a favor for me. Deal?" He held out his hand and smiled encouragingly.

"Pfft. I guess you can't make it worse, anyway." Jaskier decided it was worth a try and shookthe man’s hand. “It’s a deal.”

To Jaskier’s surprise, the man pulled a wooden spoon out of his sleeve, held it up, and snapped it in half.

A blinding pain erupted in Jaskier’s right forearm "What are you doing?!" Jaskier howled, clutching his arm.

The man's smile suddenly turned unpleasant as Jaskier felt his consciousness slipping. "Don't worry. It's just a mark of our association. When you see him next, tell Geralt of Rivia that Master Mirror says hello."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier meets Game Geralt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm setting the game universe as being about 3 years after the Blood and Wine expansion, long enough for Geralt and Yen to be relatively settled in Toussant, and for Ciri to have finished her training and set off witchering on her own. Emhyr and Radovid have both been assassinated and Dijkstra doesn’t care, so there's no need for Ciri to worry too much about being recognized. Dandelion and Priscilla have split up, because the mere idea of Dandelion being able to stay in a monogamous relationship that long is so out of character it hurts my brain, but he still owns the Chameleon because the dude is pushing 50 at this point and probably isn't keen to travel the open roads much anymore, particularly since Geralt is mostly retired as well.
> 
> I fretted for like 5 minutes about if my multiverse theory made sense with canon, but then I remembered that canon multiverse theory sometimes doesn't make sense with canon either and decided not to worry too much about it. It works the way it needs to for the plot to work, and it's the best explanation I could think of. If it's good enough for Sapkowski and CDPR it's good enough for me. Same thing for the dates and ages of characters. Canon is inconsistent so they may not be exactly right but it's close enough.

Jaskier groaned and rolled over in his bed roll without opening his eyes. How much had he had to drink last night? He could hear Geralt moving around the camp behind him, probably getting packed up to leave. Suddenly remembering what had happened and why he shouldn't be camping with Geralt, Jaskier bolted upright, instantly regretting it as his stomach rebelled.

"You all right, kid?" Asked a voice that was definitely not Geralt.

"Ugh. No, I am not all right, let me die." Jaskier took a few deep breaths to settle his stomach, then squinted at his unknown companion.

At first glance, Jaskier could have mistaken him for Geralt. He had long white hair half-tied back like Geralt's. and gold eyes, he was wearing leather armor, though it was brown and a different style than Geralt's, and Jaskier could see two swords leaning against the saddlebags nearby. But this man's build was leaner, his face unfamiliar and scarred, and though he looked about the same age as Geralt, his posture and expression gave an impression of long-term weariness that Jaskier's witcher didn't have. A second, closer look and Jaskier noticed the man's eyes were slit-pupiled like a cat's. _What the fuck?_

Jaskier groaned. "If you're a monster in disguise please eat me quickly and put me out of my misery."

The man's face hardened and his jaw clenched, but he just turned away and resumed packing up the last few items in the camp, except for what Jaskier belatedly realized must be the man's own bedroll, currently occupied by a hungover bard. After a moment he spoke again, glancing at Jaskier over his shoulder.

"I'm not a monster, I'm a mutant. A witcher. Geralt of Rivia."

Jaskier laughed incredulously, clutching his unhappy stomach. "Oh, we both have the worst luck. Anyone else would believe your little impersonationcon game, but I happen to be Geralt of Rivia's least favorite person and I know exactly what he looks like!"

"I don't even know who you are, kid, and I've made a lot of enemies in my life. I guarantee you're not my least favorite person."

"You are not Geralt of Rivia! I've known Geralt for over twenty years and you're not him! And I'm not a kid, I'm forty years old." He protested, lamely.

Not-Geralt studied his face skeptically. "Well. I guess I know plenty of people who don't look their age, myself included, so I'll take your word for it. Not sure what I can do to convince you of my identity, but for now I suppose it doesn't matter." Ignoring Jaskier's huff of disagreement, Not-Geralt crouched next to the bedroll where Jaskier was sitting. "Care to explain how you came to fall out of a portal practically into my lap last night, completely unconscious?"

"I have no idea! I shook a crazy merchant's hand! He did something to my arm!" Jaskier yanked his doublet off roughly and shoved his right sleeve up, and suddenly was once again fighting the urge to vomit. On his forearm where the so-called merchant had touched was a large, angry-looking brand in a strange shape.

"Shit." Not-Geralt stared at the brand and rubbed at the left side of his face absently. "This crazy merchant's name, was it Gaunter O'Dimm?"

"He didn't say," Jaskier said faintly, eyes still fixed on his arm. "He said to tell Geralt that Master Mirror said hello."

"Fuck, that's O'Dimm all right. Fucking creepy bastard." Not-Geralt scowled, the expression making him look a lot more like Real-Geralt. "You must have made a bargain with him, what exactly were the terms?"

"Um," Jaskier tried to remember through his alcohol-blurred memories the precise words, "He said he'd help me fix my relationship with Geralt, and I'd owe him a favor, I think? Something like that? No, change. He said he'd change my... oh fuck, he said he could make Geralt seem like a different person! You! You are Geralt, and he put a curse on you! He cursed you with cat eyes, and scars on your face, and amnesia!”

Maybe-Cursed-Geralt huffed impatiently. "I've had amnesia before so I _know_ I don't have it now, and I'm pretty sure I'm not cursed, either. What's your name?"

"Jaskier. I'm a bard." A sudden thought struck Jaskier and he looked around frantically, hangover momentarily forgotten. "My lute! Where's my lute?!"

"No lute came through the portal, just you."

"Oh no," Jaskier wailed, "I got that lute from Filavandrel! It was my first adventure with Geralt!"

Maybe-Geralt's eyes went wide and he sat back on his heels in surprise. "Dandelion? Is that you? What did you _do?_ "

"Who the fuck is Dandelion?"

"You, maybe, if you're the one O'Dimm cursed. Dandelion's my best friend, I've known him for ages. The first contract I took after I met him, we got captured by Filavandrel's group. They smashed his lute, and Toruviel gave him hers afterwards to replace it."

Jaskier stared at him. "That happened to me and Real-Geralt, but it was Filavandrel's lute. And Real-Geralt would never call me his best friend."

Maybe-Geralt pursed his lips and thought for a minute. “Tell me the whole story of how you and 'Geralt' met, through when you got the lute.”

Jaskier did, for once leaving out the artistic embellishments he usually gave the tale. It felt tainted now, after his recent fight with Geralt. If you could even call that a fight, instead of an unprovoked one-sided attack.

Once the story was done, Maybe-Geralt thought some more, then mused half to himself, “That has some similarities to what happened to me and Dandelion, but it's not very close. If you were lying, I think your account would be less detailed but more accurate. If you were my Dandelion under a curse, I think O'Dimm would have either left your memories alone or completely erased me from them. I don't think he would have given you altered memories, especially with no particular pattern to the changes. And he wouldn't have changed your name to Jaskier. There would be no point, and he never does anything without some ironic point.

“The only other possibility I can think of is that you come from a different sphere, one close to this one but not exactly the same. O'Dimm must have either transported you here or swapped you for Dandelion. That’s an interpretation of 'like a different person' that would suit his sense of humor.”

“Wait wait wait, a different _what_ now?”

“A different sphere. A different world. Ciri's told me about some of the ones she’s been to, and I've visited a few myself. If there are an almost infinite number of worlds out there, it stands to reason some of them would have to be pretty similar to each other.” Apparently-Other-World-Geralt-What-The- _Fuck_ shrugged, as if the idea of people popping around between the spheres wasn’t a strange concept at all.

Jaskier groaned and held his aching head with both hands. “I have _so_ many questions, and I am too hung over to ask them.” He gave himself a minute more to suffer, then pulled his hands away. “So assuming you're not cursed or short of _several_ marbles and under delusions of witcher-hood, what do we do to fix it?”

“First thing _I'm_ doing is going back to Novigrad to check on Dandelion. We're not that far away; I was traveling home to Toussaint after visiting him and Zoltan, and if there's a chance he's been mixed up in your mess I want to find out as soon as possible. After that I suppose we'll have to find Ciri.” A fond smile softened the harsh lines of the witcher’s face at the name. “Ciri will know if my theory is right, and might know how to get you back to your own sphere without having to involve O'Dimm.” Other-Geralt pointed at Jaskier's branded forearm. “Whatever O'Dimm wants from you in exchange for his 'help,' I don't want to get involved if I can help it, and I _definitely_ don't want him anywhere near Ciri.”

“Who's Ciri?”

Other-Geralt blinked in surprise. “You don't know Ciri?”

“No? Who is she, your lover? Did you escape the dreadful fate of Yennefer in this world?” Jaskier laughed as much as his headache would allow.

“If you want my help you'd better be careful what you say about Yennefer.”

“Ooh, scary face and prickly about the witch, definitely seeing the similarities to my Geralt now. You're much more talkative though, my Geralt only speaks in boorish grunts. I take it this Ciri is _not_ your lover then.”

“Definitely _n_ _o_ _t_ _.”_ Geralt’s face screwed up in disgust. “Ciri is my _daughter,_ by Law of Surprise.”

“You're trusting my fate to your twelve-year-old Child of Surprise, who apparently can hop between worlds at will. I am not enthusiastic about this plan, I am telling you this right now.”

“What? Ciri's twenty-seven.” The witcher frowned. “What year is it in your world?”

“1262.”

“It's 1278 now, time in your world is almost sixteen years behind this one.”

Jaskier gave Other-Geralt a critical look, comparing the wear-and-tear so evident in this Geralt to his own Geralt’s unmarked face and strong posture. “No offense, but it looks like it's been a rough sixteen years.”

Other-Geralt laughed without humor. “Jaskier, you would not believe the _half_ of it if I told you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that according to the wiki timelines, Jaskier was actually born seven years earlier than Dandelion? I was severely confused about the two universes being 16 years out of sync but Dandelion and Jaskier being only 10 years apart in age until I figured out what the problem was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A peek at Netflix!Geralt and Dandelion.

Geralt stood in the Pensive Dragon, staring at Jaskier's lute in complete befuddlement as the proprietor waved it in his face.

"I'm telling ye, witcher! The bard sat here for hours getting drunk as a lord, then BANG he's gone! And then a minute later BANG, there's different man, screeching fit to burst our ears and dressed like a bloody peacock!"

"Hmm."

"The first man was the one you'd been traveling with before, and the second yelled your name just before he passed out, so we reckoned we better send for you, you still being in the area and all."

"Where is this other man now?"

"Upstairs, in a bed. Been there ever since he fainted. He says the shock has upset his system and he mustn't be disturbed. His clothes looked expensive, so he must be someone important."

"I'll talk to him, see if he knows what happened." Geralt knew the bard wouldn’t have left his lute behind by choice.

"He's right upstairs, Witcher, first door on the left."

Geralt let himself into the room, eyes immediately drawn to the middle-aged man sprawled dramatically on the bed.

 _The proprietor wasn't lying about the clothes,_ Geralt thought. _I didn't know the dyes_ existed _to make a purple that_ _painfully_ _bright. The embroidery and colored stones alone must have cost a fortune, even if they aren't genuine._

The figure on the bed moaned pitifully, peeking at Geralt through one cracked eyelid. "Ah, Geralt, you found me! I knew I could rely-" the man suddenly squinted at Geralt with both eyes. "You're not Geralt."

Geralt frowned. "I am Geralt of Rivia, who are you? Do you know what happened to the other man, the bard?"

"You are not!" The man sat up and pointed at Geralt dramatically, "I've known Geralt for over thirty years, you can't trick me so easily! And I don't know anything about another bard, I don't even know what happened to _me!_ There I was, in the Chameleon, writing what was sure to be my most beautiful poetry yet, then suddenly the whole world went topsy-turvy and I'm suddenly in a ramshackle tavern in the back end of nowhere with someone trying to steal my best friend's identity!" He slumped back onto the bed with a huff, exhausted by the outburst. "I've been kidnapped, I'm being held for ransom, I should have known things were too peaceful for too long!"

Geralt huffed and rolled his eyes. "You're not being held for ransom. Who are you, where did you come from?"

"No! I'm not telling you! You tell me first who you are, where I am and why you're impersonating Geralt!" Under the overblown dramatics, Geralt could see the genuine fear in the man's eyes.

"I'm not, not... hmm." Geralt rubbed his face. "Never mind that for now. Yesterday afternoon there was a bard in this tavern, a bard who's traveled with me off and on for many years. He disappeared in some kind of portal, and you appeared in his place.”

“Well it must have been his doing, because it certainly wasn’t mine!”

The bard and the witcher stared at each other in mutual confusion, before the bard broke the awkward silence.

“Why are you trying to impersonate Geralt, anyway? It’s not even a good disguise! The clothes are completely wrong, and you’re not even carrying two swords on your back!”

“I keep the silver stored away unless I need it. Why would I carry both? They’d be too awkward to handle.”

“Geralt _always_ carries both together!”

“ _I_ am Geralt, and I assure you Geralt does _not.”_

More awkward staring. Geralt loved awkward silences, they were his very favorite thing. He decided it must be his turn to break it.

“Look, I don’t know if you got those ideas from one of the bard’s ridiculous songs, but-”

“I am the bard! The bard is me! I am the famous troubadour and poet, Dandelion!” The bard sat up again and started waving his arms. “I’m the one who writes the songs about Geralt of Rivia! As far as I know I’m the _only_ one who writes about Geralt of Rivia! I _know_ what was poetic license and what wasn’t!”

“I’ve never heard of anyone called Dandelion. Jaskier is the one who writes the stupid songs.”

The bard collapsed back onto the bed again and stared at the ceiling in thought. “Where are we?”

“Near Hengfors. An inn called the Pensive Dragon.”

“Aah, the scene of the famous dragon hunt! I remember it like it was yesterday!”

“It _was_ yesterday. Or, we got back yesterday at least.”

Dandelion’s eyes went wide and he studied Geralt again, scrutinizing him more closely. “Your medallion is wrong. And your armor. And your eyes are gold, but the pupil is the wrong shape. And you say the dragon hunt was yesterday. What year is it?”

“1262.”

“Oh gods, that’s neither the current date nor the year of the dragon hunt!” The bard gasped, momentary calm dispelled. “What has happened to the world?!” He looked like he wanted to collapse dramatically against the bed yet again, but he was thwarted by the fact he was already laying flat from his last dramatic collapse. He settled for raising his arms and letting them flop back down on either side of him.

Geralt felt the result was a bit underwhelming, but decided not to point that out.

“Everything is wrong, but so _close_ to being right! It’s another world! Ciri has done this to me! What did I do to Ciri, that she would punish me like this!”

“Who’s Ciri?” Geralt hoped he might finally get some actual useful information.

“Cirilla! Your daughter! It’s 1262, you should have met her already, in Brokilon! You told me about it!”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Your child of surprise!”

Geralt stiffened. “How do you know about that?”

Dandelion gestured vaguely “Oh, where I’m from we’re years ahead of you, I’ve known Ciri since she was a child.”

Geralt’s frown deepened. “You’re… from another world.”

“Yes!”

“You’re from the future.”

“Yes! Well no, not exactly, I mean, you don’t look like Geralt did even sixteen years ago and I imagine your Jaskier won’t look like me sixteen years from now. They must be,” Dandelion waved his arms up and down, “parallel worlds, so to speak, only ours is a bit farther down the track than yours.”

“Hmm.” It sounded plausible, inasmuch as something so insane could. He knew other spheres _existed,_ but as far as he knew nothing had passed between them since the Conjunction. That didn’t mean it wasn’t possible, though. “If you’re Jaskier from another world, tell me how we met.”

Dandelion huffed  and moved to sit on the edge of the bed . “I hope you know what a sacrifice this is. If I’m to convince you I’ll have to tell the _boring_ version Geralt always tells.  _My_ version is much more interesting.”

Geralt chuckled. “Having known Jaskier for all these years, I don’t doubt it a bit.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think one of the many (many) issues between Jaskier and Geralt in the Netflix show is that Jaskier doesn't actually know Geralt all that well, even after 20 years. He seems to have a version of who he wants Geralt to be in his head, and he just ignores or scolds Geralt for anything he does or says that doesn't match that image. Believe me as someone who has lived through a relationship like that, it gets really old, really fast.
> 
> Big thanks to Stressedspidergirl for the beta! AO3 keeps eating the spaces between words, so if any of those remain it's my proofreading of the draft at fault. :)

Jaskier sighed, waiting by the road while Other-Geralt detoured yet again to collect leaves from yet another bush growing a few yards away. His own Geralt sometimes foraged for his potion ingredients when he couldn’t find an apothecary with the appropriate type and quality of plants, but Other-Geralt seemed to constantly be scanning the area for useful plants as he walked. They’d only been on the road an hour, and this was the third stop.

“Hey, Other-Geralt, how much farther is it to Novigrad?”

“About half a day if we maintain this pace,” the witcher answered calmly, not looking away from the bush he was examining, “but don't be discouraged, it's a whole five minutes closer than the last time you asked. And you don't need to call me Other-Geralt, you know.”

“But then I might get you and my own Geralt confused!”

Other-Geralt turned and looked at Jaskier incredulously.

“All right, I admit you may have a point.”

“Logically, I'm not actually _Other_ -Geralt at all,” the witcher pointed out, “considering that this is my own world. I belong here, if anything I should call you _Other-Dandelion_.”

“Ew, no. No, I will not be answering to Other-Dandelion, thank you very much, so you can put that notion right out of your head my cat-eyed friend.”

“Exactly. So I won't call you Other-Dandelion, you won't call me Other-Geralt, and we'll both be happy. Deal?”

Jaskier huffed. “It just so happens I'm a bit soured on making deals with strangers at the moment. But it will be hard to make Other-Geralt fit the rhyme scheme of my ballad, so for now I will agree to call you Geralt and the Geralt I know will be My-Geralt.”

Roach snorted, apparently losing patience with them and started to walk away to find a tasty bush of her own.

“Geralt? Other-Roach is walking away with your bags. Am I allowed to catch her, or would you rather your things all disappear over the horizon?”

Geralt glanced up, then turned back to his flower-picking. “She’s fine, leave her alone.”

“Are you sure? Because it doesn’t look like she’s stopping.”

“Jaskier, it’s fine. She’ll come back when I whistle for her.”

“Really? How did you train her to do that?”

Geralt shrugged. “She’s Roach.”

“Yes, that doesn’t answer the question though.”

“I’m not sure what your question _was._ It’s fine if she wants to wander, she’ll come back if I need her to. She’s Roach.”

“But what does that _mean?_ ”

Geralt sighed, as if Jaskier was being highly obtuse. “It means she’ll come if I call her, I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“That doesn’t make any _sense!”_ Jaskier threw his hands up in frustration.

Geralt left the bush and rejoined Jaskier on the road, tucking the flowers he had collected into his bag. “You made a magically-binding wish, got transported to a completely different world,met an alternate version of your best friend, and now you’re telling me that my horse coming when I call her is what doesn’t make sense to you?”

“That… is another good point. I hate it when you make the most ridiculous things make sense.”

His fingers were itching for his lute. He hummed anyway, trying to work on the ballad he would write about all of this as much as he could without an instrument or paper to write on. The beginning was already taking shape. A stirring tale of the brave troubadour who, after being cruelly driven away by his only friend, decided to explore other spheres and encountered, quite by accident, a future version of said friend. It would be a sensational hit! He got a bit stuck at that point though, as he hadn't quite decided if this new Geralt was better or worse than the original. That _was_ a rather crucial factor for the tone of the rest of the ballad, after all.

“How much farther is it to Novigrad now?”

“Jaskier. I’ve told you, we’ll get there shortly after noon if we maintain this pace. You can see the sun, do the math yourself.”

Geralt walked in silence for a while, then said “You said you’d wished to fix your relationship with your own Geralt, that you wanted him to change. What was so wrong with him? If you disliked him enough to try to use magic to change him, why did you stay with him so long?”

“Because I _did_ like him! He was my friend! Or at least I thought he was. He always said he wasn’t, but I thought it was just his repressed, stunted emotions not letting him admit to something as human as friendship. I didn’t think he _meant_ it.”

“I haven’t heard you say a single good thing about him since you got here. He may say he’s not your friend, but it doesn’t sound to me like you’re really his, either. Is he really that bad, or do you just not like him?”

“Of course I like him! I'm angry at him right now, of course, because he's being completely unreasonable and stupid, but once he's had a good sulk he'll calm down and we'll go back to normal. Not that he isn't always a bit thick, mind, but this was just beyond the pale. He's actually decent company when he isn't being a stubborn blockhead. And he has me to do the talking for him when the situation calls for it, so it all works very well.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier pointed at him and laughed. "Now you even sound like him!"

"I'm guessing you don't pay much attention to what he tells you, either."

"Of course I do! He just never tells me anything! Or if he does it's something boring, or ridiculous and wrong." Jaskier rolled his eyes.

"Have you considered that maybe he doesn’t tell you things because you think everything he says is ridiculous and wrong?"

"It's not my fault he has the conversational skills of a rock troll!"

"I like talking to rock trolls, they're funny." Geralt grinned, an expression Jaskier was unused to seeing on a witcher’s face.

"You... what? Rock trolls _eat people,_ Geralt!"

Geralt shrugged. "They’re still funny. Most of them are harmless if left alone. And even the ones that are dangerous are less cruel than a lot of humans."

"...That... that's... stop distracting me with rock trolls, Geralt! Rock trolls are not the point!"

"No, they're not. The point is that friendship only really works if both parties actually _like_ each other, and from what you’ve told me so far it sounds like you and your Geralt don’t."

"You know, my Geralt hardly talks at all, but I think maybe _you_ talk _too_ much."

Geralt nodded. "I do. I get myself in trouble a lot by speaking my mind when it would be better to keep my mouth shut. Your Geralt is likely smarter than I am, if he's wise enough to stay quiet when no one wants to hear what he has to say. No one likes to have everything they say mocked or ignored."

Jasker huffed and fell back a few steps to break off the conversation.

Imagine, implying that Jaskier didn't like or listen to Geralt! Of course he liked Geralt! Granted he liked him better when he cooperated and acted more like the idealized hero Jaskier had worked so hard to portray in his songs, but he still liked him! And maybe be didn't listen to much of what Geralt said, but he would if Geralt said anything worth listening to!

It was hardly Jaskier's fault it was all "hmm” and “fuck” and “I hate your lying songs, bard” “don't follow me, bard” “I don't want to wear decent clothes and go to a marvelous party bard,” “quit sleeping with all those married people, bard." Hmph. With an attitude like that, no wonder he'd had such a hard time before Jaskier came along to do all the talking for him.

He glanced ahead, to where Geralt was now talking about the state of the weather (windy) to Roach, who had decided to join them again.

“Hey Geralt!” He called, “How much farther is it to Novigrad?”

The witcher’s shoulders slumped and he looked at the sky as if begging the gods for patience, which struck Jaskier as unnecessarily dramatic.

Jaskier really needed to meet more people in this world. He was tired of guessing if this version of Geralt was crazy or if this whole world was just  strange . 

H e thought longingly of his own lute, his own Geralt, his own world. Bitterly, he hoped his-Geralt was enjoying all that peace and quiet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In canon Jaskier listens to an actual survivor tell him exactly what was done to the elves, you can see by his reaction he understands what he's hearing and that he realizes that it was wrong and terrible, and then he consciously decides “ah well, respect doesn't make history” and writes a song painting elves as sub-human devil worshiping "pests." For the sake of being able to redeem his character at all, I am trying to make his motives and thought process for this as sympathetic as I possibly can. Keep in mind he’s an unreliable narrator and his opinions do not match my own.
> 
> Geralt of Rivia has extremely negative views of bigotry in every adaptation, but I think Netflix Geralt hasn't yet seen the amount of truly awful shit or been through the same hell that Game Geralt has, so Game Geralt would react a lot more strongly to being featured in a song like that. Dude was literally killed trying to protect elves and dwarves from humans. That's gotta leave pretty strong impression.

“So, Geralt, tell me about the sixteen years ahead of me. What do I need to look out for?”

Geralt made a face. “I don’t think I should tell you.”

“Why? Worried about changing things? It doesn’t sound like they were very fun years, some changes might be for the better!”

Geralt made a so-so motion with his hand. “Maybe, but what could you do if I did tell you? In my experience prophecy causes more problems than it solves, and who knows if what I told you would even apply to your world?”

“It might help, though!”

“Or it might not. One person with dubious foreknowledge isn’t going to be able to change events that have decades or centuries of momentum behind them. You might be able to persuade a few individuals to make a few different choices, but it wouldn’t make much difference overall in the long run and you’d only hurt yourself and others if you tried to control their decisions. It’s better to just take life as it comes and make the best decisions you can in the moment, then find a way to live with whatever happens.”

Jaskier scowled. He finally found a witcher who actually talks, and he still can’t get any details out of him.

Two hours and endless attempts at prying information out of Geralt later, Jaskier was starting to really miss his own Geralt. After several hours worth of nagging, his-Geralt would already be twitching with annoyance, which was both highly entertaining and likely to result at some point in Geralt answering his questions, if only to escape being pestered.

This Geralt struck Jaskier as a man much more solidly confident and comfortable in his own skin, and so wasn’t nearly as easy to nettle. He just kept putting Jaskier’s repeated questions off with bland non-answers or obviously silly lies, in an exaggeratedly patient tone like a parent humoring a small child in that phase where they won’t stop asking “why.” Jaskier strongly suspected Geralt was giving that impression on purpose. He was tempted to keep asking just so Geralt wouldn’t _win,_ but he was feeling increasingly silly so he decided to fall back and regroup, try to work out a more effective strategy.

Jaskier decided to see if this Geralt found his songs as annoying as his counterpart did. Insulting as the idea was, perhaps the witcher could be persuaded to part with some answers if would mean a break from the singing. He started out with a few of his more generic compositions, which Geralt tolerated patiently, if not enthusiastically, then decided to increase the pressure and launched into the first stanza of 'Toss a Coin.' That one always got a reaction from his-Geralt.

Before he’d finished the first verse Geralt completely stopped walking in the middle of the road and stared at Jaskier with an utterly flat expression.

Deciding to interpret that as an encouraging sign, Jaskier finished the song with as dramatic a flourish as he could manage without his lute.

Geralt continued to stare in silence for an uncomfortably long time, his jaw clenching an unclenching spasmodically. Jaskier began to worry that perhaps he had poked the bear a little too hard.

"Ah, Geralt, I am hoping that very, ah, _focused_ , look you’re giving me means you were blown away by the obvious talent I displayed, even as a young man just beginning his career, and may I say that those cat pupils and the scar really add a whole new dimension to the “scary witcher” face, very effective, it must be-"

"What the _fuck,_ Jaskier."

"I beg your pardon? Sorry, is the face thing a sensitive topic? I meant it in a purely complimentary sense, I do assure-"

"You wrote a song about your friend killing elves like it was some sort of _pest control?_ _"_

Jaskier rolled his eyes. "Don't you be tiresome about it, too, I know my Geralt always complains that it isn't accurate, but honestly the truth lacked the needed-"

"I don't care about _inaccuracies_ , you idiot. Dandelion puts all sorts of crap about me in his songs, but he never told people I was _evil._ "

"I didn't! I never said that! You- well, he, I suppose- needed humans to like him! To see him as a hero! A friend of humanity!"

"A hero, a friend of humanity, specifically because he _‘_ _wiped out the pests_ _?’_ Elves are _people,_ Jaskier, and people are not pests to be wiped out. Did you even _think_ about that when you wrote that song?"

"Of course I did, I respected Filavandrel! But it’s like I told Geralt, respect doesn't make a song that can change history! And it's not like it did them any harm, hiding up there in the mountains. They probably never even heard it. It might even have helped them, everyone thinking they were dead!"

"And what about _other_ elves? The ones living in human-dominated cities, and towns, and villages? The ones just trying to survive in peace? How do you think a song painting elves as bloodthirsty monsters following a devil affected _them?_ "

"I admit I didn't really think about that, but my goal was to write a song that would be popular enough to help Geralt! Most of Geralt's contracts come from humans, so changing events to make him appeal more to the average human-"

"Fuck what the _average human_ thinks! Let me tell you something about _average humans,_ _Jaskier_ _._ You wanted so badly to know what happened in the last sixteen years? Roughly six years into your future I was killed by an _average human_.”

Jaskier's face went white and he took half a step back. Geralt's voice had never raised in volume, but Jaskier saw more genuine danger burning in the witcher's eyes and growling in his voice than he ever had in his own Geralt’s angry snarling.

“And it happened because a mob of _average humans_ hated other races so much that they brutally murdered over a third of Rivia's nonhuman population in less than an hour. I tried to stop them, so a perfectly _average_ _human_ named Rob who owed three crowns to the local tavern impaled me on a pitchfork. And Yennefer drained her magic and lost her life in a vain attempt to heal me.

“I _died_ trying stop your _average humans_ from senselessly slaughtering their own neighbors, and when it was all over and the deaths were tallied, my name was counted among the nonhuman casualties, right alongside those of the elves and dwarves. The only reason Yen and I are alive today is because Ciri was able to revive us and send us to a place where we could heal in safety.

“I'll protect humans from monsters, sure, but if being viewed as a 'friend of humanity' means also being viewed as an instrument of bigotry and genocide in order to win the humans’ favor, then it's a title I don't want. If your Geralt is anything like me I'm sure he feels the same." Geralt opened his mouth to say more, then shook his head and walked away.

“Come on. We’re only an hour out from Novigrad now, and I'm anxious to see if Dandelion is still there. The sooner we can get this sorted out the better.”

By the time Jaskier could convince his legs to move, Geralt had gotten quite far ahead. He trudged silently behind, his mind reeling. He pictured his own Geralt being killed by an angry mob and felt sick. He knew his Geralt would do exactly the same as this Geralt had. The witcher had risked his life on the mountain to protect a dragon who probably didn’t need his help against a band of humans. He’d publicly defied a warrior queen to her face in her own banquet hall to protect one cursed knight. He would never be able to stand by and watch as so many elves and dwarves were killed for no reason.

Jaskier started reevaluating in his mind everything he thought he knew about Geralt's reactions to his songs, in light of this new information.

He'd always assumed Geralt's protests to the rewriting of events had been part of his frankly obsessive attitude towards accuracy in monster lore coupled with his tragic lack of imagination, but in hindsight Geralt had always objected most strongly when Jaskier credited him with the slaying of a creature that Geralt had actually allowed to live.

It had been easy to brush off those complaints, since Geralt clearly didn't understand how to manage his own public image, and certainly he didn’t understand the kind of skilled poetic license it took to make a bard (and his witcher) famous, but he hadn't thought he was actually _hurting_ Geralt.

He could hardly write songs about the unvarnished truth of the witcher’s profession, after all. At best, they would be mediocre and dull. Mediocre songs wouldn’t make Jaskier a world-famous bard, and certainly wouldn’t influence public opinion of witchers. At worst, a song about Geralt giving his coin to elven rebels or protecting a dragon from human hunters might turn people _against_ Geralt.

Jaskier's songs were intended (in addition to securing himself the fame and recognition of being the famous witcher’s musical biographer,) to _protect_ the witcher from exactly the sort of mindless hatred that had led to the sacking of Kaer Morhen and the slaying off all the witchers who’d been there, surely that couldn't be a bad thing? Humans hated the elder races anyway, they always had and always would. Surely the songs Jaskier had written wouldn't make that much difference to them.

In fact, Geralt _needed_ Jaskier specifically because the witcher was too much of a born martyr to to put his own good ahead of a lost cause, and thus he needed Jaskier to do it for him. Of course he did. That’s why it was all right for Jaskier to write things about Geralt that Geralt didn’t approve of.

Jaskier scowled and kicked a rock off the edge of the road. He knew the justification wouldn’t be enough to satisfy Geralt. In the very back of his mind where he couldn’t quite ignore it, he wasn’t sure the justification satisfied him anymore, either, after having it shoved in his face like that. He was definitely going to leave this part out of the ballads when he wrote about this adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the extreme minority in that I absolutely loathe that song. It's badly written to begin with, and in the context of the witcher world it's horrifically racist. Especially since the books specifically had Dandelion state out loud that he *wasn't* going to mention the elves in his song specifically because he thought it would make things worse for them.


	6. Chapter 6

Jaskier had stayed quiet the rest of the way to Novigrad. He was still troubled about the things Geralt had said, and he didn’t want to accidentally say something that might set off a similar explosion from Geralt before he’d had time to process this one.

He worked on his ballad some more as a distraction, but he didn’t have anything new he wanted to include, and his mind kept drifting back to the sheer fury and pain on Geralt’s face. Both Geralts, actually. He’d still been reeling from his own Geralt’s anger, and now this one was angry at him, too. He had to have some sort of natural talent, to have met two different Geralts and managed to make both of them angry at him within six hours of meeting them. At least this Geralt hadn’t punched him.

Geralt walked ahead without looking back for quite some time, but he eventually stopped and waited for Jaskier to catch up, and after that he seemed to be over the worst of his temper, judging by his return to narrating everything he saw or heard or smelled along the road, and occasionally making a small detour to forage for potion ingredients.

Though he exclusively directed his observations either to no one in particular or to Roach when she graced them with her presence, so perhaps not. Jaskier wasn’t sure if he should view being ignored as a punishment or a mercy, but given how angry Geralt had been he was leaning towards the latter.

It was early afternoon when they finally reached Novigrad. Jaskier was too tired, both physically and mentally, to bother trying to look for differences or similarities to the Novigrad he knew. He did notice the city guards that spit and hurled threats in Geralt's direction as he passed, but Geralt himself seemed neither surprised nor bothered.

“Geralt, those guards-”

“Just ignore them.”

“But they-”

“Ignore them. It’s all bluster, they won’t actually do anything.”

“If you say so.” Jaskier made sure to keep an eye on every guard they passed, regardless. He knew that Novigrad was run by the Church of the Eternal Fire, and that the church was notorious for its persecution of non-humans, but even though he’d been to the city several times he’d never visited it while traveling with Geralt, so he wasn’t sure if witchers qualified as non-human in their theology. Even if he was, he didn’t know if the same rules would apply in this world as his own.

The Chameleon, the cabaret that Jaskier's counterpart had settled down to run, wasn't far inside the city walls so they arrived quickly once they reached the gates.

They were greeted by a dwarf in a red coat.

“Geralt! What are ye doin’ back so soon?”

“Is Dandelion here?”

“I’ve not seen him. He was working late last night on his poetry, but he was gone this morning. I was just starting to worry a bit.”

Geralt swore. “Jaskier, this is Zoltan Chivay. Zoltan, this is Jaskier. Keep him out of trouble if you have to sit on him, I need to find a mage who can get in contact with Yennefer. At least the purges have stopped since Dijkstra took over, I should be able to find one.”

“Yennefer? What’s she got to do with Dandelion being missing?”

“Nothing, but I’ll need Yennefer to help me contact Ciri, and we need Ciri to help get Dandelion back.”

“What? Geralt, this isn’t going to turn into one of those long, drawn-out messes like when you needed to find Priscilla to find Dudu to break Dandelion out of prison to find Ciri, and you ended up starring in a play, killing a gang lord, and burning down the witch hunters’ headquarters by the end of it, is it?”

Geralt winced. “Technically it was Triss who started that fire.”

“Geralt.” The dwarf said flatly.

“I certainly hope this won’t be like that, Zoltan. I’ll explain the rest later, I have to hurry, before it gets too late and all the shops close. Keep Jaskier out of sight if you can.”

Once Geralt left, Zoltan took Jaskier upstairs to a private room where he’d be away from the crowd in the caberet, and demanded to know what the fuck was going on. Jaskier explained the situation as best he could. He wished he could embellish the story as he normally would have, but he just didn’t have the energy, and was afraid that he might accidentally embellish something that would set the witcher off again when he heard it.

“Will he be all right out there?” Jaskier asked quietly. “Geralt, I mean? The guards when we came in, they spit at him, threatened him. Geralt said to just ignore it.”

Zoltan sighed. “He'll be fine, lad. It's not like it used to be under Radovid, when the pyres never seemed to go out. Dijkstra's a whoreson and a tyrant, and everyone knows he won't last long atop the pile, but he has put a stop to the burning of mages and non-humans, so that's something in his favor. The guards can spit and threaten all they like, but they won't do anything more, not to someone as dangerous as Geralt. They remember the old days same as the rest of us, and Geralt killed his share of witch hunters back then for giving him trouble."

"Did he really burn down their headquarters?"

"Ehh. There was a fire sure enough, and he was there when it happened, but he and Triss were the only two who made it out alive, so who knows. I imagine Triss likely did start the fire, the witch hunts were in full swing at the time and Triss has a vengeful nature, but I'm sure Geralt raised no real objections."

Jaskier thought about what he’d seen of the lavishly decorated caberet on his way through. It was a place he'd love to perform, he thought, but he didn't know if he'd want to live here. Since Geralt was so convinced that Jaskier was a bad friend, he decided to do some fishing for information about his counterpart. Perhaps Zoltan wouldn’t be so stingy with his answers.

"Dandelion, the one that's missing. Are he and Geralt really friends?"

"Aye, the best of friends. Geralt's known Dandelion longer than he's known any of us, even Yennefer."

"But are they _friends,_ though? Because sometimes, sometimes you can know someone a long time, travel with them for years, and then it turns out you weren't ever really friends at all."

Zoltan pursed his lips. "They're friends, lad. True friends. They'll take the piss out of each other, sure, and they have their fights. Dandelion drags Geralt into his madcap schemes more often than Geralt would like, and Geralt's meaner than a bear when he gets single-mindedly fixated on some grand quest or other, but they're still friends."

"How can you tell? I mean, how do you know Geralt's not just putting up with him?"

“Dandelion can be silly and selfish, and for a master poet he often doesn’t consider his words well, but he’s not as empty-headed as he seems, and he cares for Geralt dearly. Friendship with a witcher hasn’t always been a benefit to him, socially or professionally, but he’s stuck by Geralt anyway. He’s ridden right into almost certain death armed only with his voice and his lute, just to sit at Geralt’s side when he was wounded.

“Besides, Geralt travels all the way here from that cozy vineyard in Toussaint to visit us on the regular, and he wouldn’t do that for just anyone. Geralt has many friends, but not many he’ll travel out of his way just to visit. Dandelion would love to return the favor I’m sure, but it’s still not safe for him to show his face in Toussaint.”

“How did Dandelion make Geralt be friends with him?”

The dwarf looked at him oddly. “You don’t _make_ someone be your friend, lad, you either both choose or you don’t, that’s all.”

“But why did Geralt choose Dandelion, what made him decide he wanted to be his friend? Was it the songs, the songs Dandelion wrote to make Geralt famous?”

“Eh? Dandelion never wrote those songs to make Geralt famous. Geralt never cared to _be_ famous, and Dandelion never cared for anyone’s fame but his own. He writes songs and poems about nearly everything that passes his line of sight, ‘out of inner need,’ he always says. It just so happens that Geralt passes his line of sight frequently, and thus ends up in more than his share of songs.”

“Then why are they friends?”

Zoltan laughed, “Now there’s a question for the ages, and the only ones who know are the two of them, if they even understand it themselves. I’ve never heard either give a straight answer, so I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

Jaskier huffed in frustration. “That doesn’t do me any good.”

The dwarf shook his head and said he’d fetch them both a drink. He left the room, grumbling all the way about how the witcher spent half his life trying to find his daughter, and why hadn’t he come up with a better way to keep track of her by now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you choose in the game to let O’Dimm claim Olgierd’s soul, there is a dialogue choice where O’Dimm will give Geralt some pretty good relationship advice in regards to Ciri. O’Dimm did promise to fix Jaskier’s relationship with Geralt, so I don’t think it’s out of character for him to parcel out some actual advice in the name of keeping his bargain, while at the same time tearing Jaskier’s confidence down and rubbing his face in his guilt while he’s stuck in another world and can’t actually talk to his own Geralt about it. Not that that could be a manipulation tactic or anything.

Jaskier had just started to wonder if the circumstances warranted getting drunk two nights in a row, when between one blink and the next he found himself once again sharing a table with the man who'd gotten him into this mess to begin with.

"What the hell do you want?" Jaskier glared at him. "Haven't you done enough?"

The man wagged his finger at Jaskier, "Tsk tsk, not so rude! You owe me a favor, after all. I did give you what you asked for."

"This is _not_ what I wanted and you know it! You said you would fix things between me and Geralt, but now we’re stuck in completely separate worlds!"

“Separation can be very healthy for a relationship. You were hurting that version of Geralt and he lashed out in return, but this version isn’t so willing to let himself be hurt. Sounds like improvement to me! You must admit, he does seem like a completely different person, as I promised.”

“That doesn’t fix _anything,_ that isn’t even _close_ to what I wanted!”

The man shrugged carelessly. "Hardly _my_ fault you were careless. You were quite vague, I had to make my best guess. Would you rather I had changed the Geralt you already knew?" His smile widened, but didn’t reach his eyes. "I could have, you know, with a wish like that. I could have made him into a living puppet with no will of his own, so he'd never have said a cross word to you again. Never refused any favor you asked of him, always adored your songs, spoke, dressed, and fought exactly as you wanted. “

Jaskier felt the blood drain from his face.

O’Dimm noticed, and his humorless smile widened. “I could have made him, in short, the most perfect combination of guard dog and _lap_ dog you could ever have wanted him to be. He'd have done anything you wanted for as long as you lived, and for the rest of your life you'd have known he was doing it because he was forced to by magic, and not because he actually chose or wanted to. Would you have liked that better?"

Jaskier shook his head in mute horror.

The man leaned back and cocked his head, considering, "Which would you have preferred? That I obliterate his mind and personality, replacing it with one more to your liking, so that he genuinely believed himself to be acting of his own free will, or would you rather I left his mind intact but trapped, watching through his own eyes as his body did your bidding without being able to stop or control it?"

“Stop it.”

O’Dimm shifted forward and spoke in a hushed tone, "Which would you have preferred for the Countess de Stael, if you had succeeded in your wishes with the djinn?"

"How do you even _know_ about that?"

The man smiled gently. "Does it really matter? I know who you are, Jaskier. I know what you want. It's my business to know. The question is, what do _I_ want, in exchange for lifting that brand off your arm? The kind of man who twice attempts to use someone else’s magic to force first a lover then a friend could surely be quite useful to me."

“That wasn’t what I wanted! I didn’t, I wanted to _fix_ things, I didn’t want to _force_ anyone!”

“I know. I know you didn’t. You simply want them to live up to the best version of themselves: the idealized image you have in your mind. You see everyone only as who you _want_ them to be, instead of who they are, and you fool yourself into mistaking the stars reflected in a pond for the night sky. There are hundreds of reasons and thousands of justifications people give for twisting someone else to their will, and somehow it’s always the other person’s fault for driving them to it. I don’t much care what your particular variation is. I’ve been granting wishes for thousands of years, Jaskier, I’ve heard them all.”

“That’s not the way it was!”

“It is.” O’Dimm’s gaze was piercing an inescapable, as if he were looking into Jaskier’s very soul. “You want to be a famous bard, but the witcher you select as your muse rejects you. This isn’t what you want to hear, so it must be his _trauma_ , his _naivety_ , his _stupidity_ , he doesn’t really mean it, he doesn’t know his own mind. This way, by ignoring what he says, you are in fact helping him, and proving that you know and understand him. Does that sound familiar?

“I do hate to point out semantics, Jaskier, but there actually is a difference between coaxing someone out of their shell and simply smashing through all of their boundaries.”

Whatever he would have said next was interrupted by the door banging open. Jaskier gasped in relief to see Geralt in the doorway, looking thunderous.

“Bit rich of you to judge, O’Dimm, since smashing through people’s boundaries and forcing them to do your will is your favorite pastime.” The witcher sneered, entering the room fully and closing the door behind him, muffling the noise of the music from downstairs.

“Ah, my friend!” O’Dimm spread his arms in mock-welcome. “My good friend and former associate, Geralt of Rivia! Would you care for a rematch? You won last time, though it was by a dirty cheat and made me quite cross with you!”

“No. It wasn’t a cheat, O’Dimm, I just outwitted you. I don’t owe you anything, and I don’t want to be mixed up in whatever you have going on with the bard, either. All I care is that Dandelion is returned safely.”

The man grinned and extended his hand, “Of course! Anything you wish, for a price!”

Geralt simply glared and ignored the outstretched hand.

The smile dropped from O’Dimm’s face and he stared at Geralt with deep dislike. “It was quite frustrating, you know, trying to plan my revenge for your little trick, and for interfering with my deal with Olgierd. You’re all so disgustingly _happy_ nowadays, no one in your adorable little circle of friends and family really _wanted_ anything badly enough for me to use.

“It was your daughter, really, who gave me the idea,” the man continued, ignoring the way Geralt bared his teeth and snarled at the mention of her, “what with all that popping around to different spheres, running from and pursuing the Wild Hunt in turns. Shame you destroyed them so thoroughly, by the way, they really were quite useful, leaving so many people in their wake desperate and wanting.

“All I really needed to do was find a world parallel to your own, but one which hadn’t reached your current state of nauseatingly domestic bliss. I thought to approach your own counterpart first, but he was a lost cause, all ‘I want nothing, I need nothing,’ very boring. But the _bard_ , the bard wanted _so much_ , with such intensity, it was simply irresistible.”

Jaskier’s indignation managed to eclipse his fear long enough for him to shout “You mean you tricked me into this just because you were mad at _him?”_

O’Dimm tipped his head in acknowledgment “I could have gone for the sorceress, I suppose, so many desires there as well, but hers were so straightforward and all-encompassing. Power, freedom, choice etc. Boring.Yours were so much more tangled and interesting, and already aimed in the direction I needed with hardly any prompting from me at all.And I couldn’t take the risk that the witcher might leave a powerful sorceress to fight her own battles, particularly if his jealous and temperamental lover at home took exception. But for a simple human bard?Now the noble White Wolf will feel responsible, and obliged to help you, whether he wants to or not.”

“Like fuck I will.”

“Of course you will! You helped Olgierd, after all, who used you and gave you every reason to leave him to his fate. I hardly think you’ll turn your back on the bard. Particularly if you care to get Master Dandelion back.”

“I hate you.”

“Mutual.” O’Dimm stood up from the table. “Well. My business with the bard is private, and I imagine you have all sorts of scheming to attempt, so I’ll leave you to it for now. I can afford to wait. One way or the other, rest assured, the debt will be repaid. If you feel like making another wager, Geralt, do let me know.”

And with that, O’Dimm vanished into thin air.

“Fuck.” Geralt and Jaskier said in unison.

Zoltan chose that moment to appear with the alcohol he’d gone to fetch, which was the first piece of luck Jaskier had had in this world so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this, I absolutely did not in a million years anticipate Gaunter O’Dimm giving Jaskier relationship advice, but there it is.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update because this one is so short. Also it was supposed to come after chapter four but I got my files mixed up, so. Oops?

“Do not _manhandle_ me, Geralt! Do you know what this doublet cost?” Dandelion flailed and tried to grab hold of the door frame.

Geralt and Dandelion were still at the Pensive Dragon. Geralt's only idea on how to fix the swap was to ask Yennefer about it, but he wasn't sure Yennefer would even speak to him at the moment.

Dandelion had insisted that Yennefer wouldn't be able to help anyway and that the only option was to wait for his world's Ciri to find them, but Geralt wasn't sure how much of that was related to his indignation when he discovered Jaskier didn't own a horse he could borrow. He flatly refused, in his words, to “run along behind like a hapless jester,” and since neither of them had the coin to buy another horse, they seemed unlikely to leave until what coin Geralt did have ran out.

Geralt supposed if worse came to worst they could sell Dandelion’s doublet. Something that offensively bright had to worth a fair amount of coin.

“You can’t challenge another bard to a poetry-duel just because you didn’t like his song; you’ll get us kicked out. What the hell is a poetry-duel, anyway?” Geralt used one hand to keep hold of Dandelion’s collar and pried the bard’s fingers away from the door frame with the other.

“Did you _hear_ what he was singing about you?!”

Geralt rolled his eyes and pushed the irate poet through the door. “Heard it at least a hundred times, I had to listen to Jaskier composing it.” Although it grated on Geralt’s ears even more when it was someone other than Jaskier singing it. He hated thinking about how many bards might have picked it up and gone around the continent telling that tale.

Dandelion was staring at him in horror. “Other-Me wrote that, that amateurish monstrosity of _slander_ and _vicious lies?!”_

Geralt grunted affirmatively. “ T old him I didn’t like it,  H e never listens to me. He said it was to improve my image.”

“ _Improve?!”_ Dandelion’s voice somehow managed to get even more shrill. “What in the gods’ names were they saying about you before, that that’s _improvement?!”_

“It isn’t that much of an improvement, really. Jaskier thought he could make them stop calling me the Butcher.” Geralt gave a one-shouldered shrug. “He meant to help, I think, but it didn’t really make much difference what people called me. A butcher is what most people are looking for when they hire a witcher. Only difference is that after Blaviken I got more job offers for human targets, and after Jaskier’s song, more for elven or dwarven targets.” Geralt grimaced. “And fewer non-humans willing or brave enough to hire me, even if they had the coin for a witcher in the first place.”

Dandelion clenched his fists and tried to duck around Geralt, presumably to launch himself again at the other bard still performing downstairs, though  luckily  Geralt couldn’t quite make out the  lyrics from here,  which meant  Dandelion likely could barely hear him at all .

Geralt kicked backwards to slam the door closed and leaned against it, crossing his arms and  raising an eyebrow at Dandelion.

Dandelion fumed, then threw his arms in the air. “Fine!  If y ou won’t let me tell you anything about the future and you won’t let me  teach that no-talent lying hack  downstairs  a lesson, give me pen and paper! I’m at least going to give Other-Me a piece of my mind and some actually  _decent material!”_

Geralt pointed wordlessly to Jaskier’s pack, which contained all of his  notes and  writing materials. He felt a bit bad, letting Dandelion root through Jaskier’s  scribblings and squawk in outrage at them, but if it kept the bard from getting them kicked out of the inn it was worth it. Somehow, Geralt  had a feeling  this whole thing was somehow Jaskier’s fault,  anyway .


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Yennefer arrives! I did not actually plan for Yennefer to be in this. All this was supposed to be was Game Geralt meeting Netflix Jaskier and setting him straight on a few things, but then my brain said “OK, but how would Jaskier get to the game universe?” and then it said “how would he get back, tho?” and then there was like, actual plot.

Jaskier and Geralt had made great headway into Dandelion’s supply of alcohol, under Zoltan’s not-so-watchful eye, when a portal suddenly opened into the room and a stunning, dark-haired woman stepped out.

Though her face, hair, and style of clothing were all different, Jaskier knew instantly this could be no one else but Yennefer of Vengerburg. Mostly because Geralt pointed excitedly and said “Look, it’s Yennefer!” as soon as she appeared. Jaskier was a very observant person, he noticed clues like that.

“What, exactly, is going on here, Geralt?” The sorceress crossed her arms. Her tone was sharp but her expression was full of fond exasperation.

“You’re here!” Geralt announced happily, beckoning to her.

Jaskier nodded in agreement. It was true. She was indeed here. Geralt was very smart. Jaskier felt bad for thinking witchers were dumb.

“Geralt. You did not call me all the way from Corvo Bianco to this disgusting shit-hole of a city with what must have been a very expensive bit of magic just so I could listen to your drunken rambling.” She sighed, circled around the table and bent down so he could give her a hug.

“Nooo, I didn’t. I need to find Ciri!” Geralt’s voice was muffled by her hair.

“Ciri’s fine, Geralt, she’s just on the Path. You trained her well, she’s perfectly safe. You don’t need to find her.” Yennefer patted his shoulder reassuringly.

“Yessss, I do need to. Because. Because why do I need to again, Zoltan?”

Zoltan, who had drunk enough to be sociable without getting completely smashed, told Yennefer what he had gathered from Geralt and Jaskier about the situation. It took a lot of words. It made Jaskier tired. He did not want to think about it anymore, that’s why he had started drinking. He put his head down on the table and went to sleep.

* * *

He woke up on the floor, feeling a strong sense of deja-vu. _I have learned the life lesson this adventure meant to teach me,_ he decided grimly. _Getting drunk is a very bad idea. I will change my ways and be a better man._

Groaning, he pulled himself up off the floor and made his way downstairs, where he found Geralt sitting at one of the tables  in the empty cabaret  nursing a cup of water,  with a blanket draped around his shoulders . His pupils were contracted to tiny slits, which Jaskier would have found slightly unnerving if he wasn’t too miserable to care.

Jaskier slumped into the chair across from Geralt and poured himself a cup from the water pitcher on the table.

“Well, I see you’re finally awake,” came a woman’s voice that Jaskier took a moment to place. Ah yes, Yennefer. Who appeared to be just as sweet and kind as the version of her that Jaskier knew. She came and seated herself at the head of the table.

“I don’t want to be,” Jaskier whined, “I got lectured twice about being a bad friend yesterday, and I’m pretty sure the second time it was by an actual demon. An actual demon told me I was a bad friend.”

“In that case, maybe you should consider if that’s a sign you’re a bad friend.” Yennefer said, with no sympathy at all. Why did every version of Yennefer have to say such dreadful things?

“O’Dimm’s not a demon.” Geralt grumbled. “Not a djinn, either. Just evil. Evil Incarnate.”

“You left me to sleep on the floor. Not even a blanket! Why does Geralt get a blanket and not me? He was drunk, too.” Jaskier groused at Yennefer, ignoring Geralt’s interjection. He was well used to tuning out corrections on proper monster terminology, but he made a mental note to be sure to specifically mention O’Dimm as a demon in his ballad.

“Well _I_ got pulled away from my very lovely home, an excellent glass of wine, and a delightfully absurd two-crown romance novel by your supposed emergency, which I then had to hear about second hand from _Zoltan Chivay_ because the two people actually involved were drunk off their asses, so forgive me if I wasn’t inclined to carry you to bed.”

“Did you carry Geralt to bed?” Jaskier tried to smirk but he felt it was probably a grimace.

“No.” Geralt said gloomily.

Yennefer pat ted his hand. “I couldn’t possibly carry you if I wanted to, Geralt. And I did bring you a blanket. If you want to sleep in a bed you should’ve stayed sober enough to walk there.  I f you want to be silly you can live with the results .”  She turned back to Jaskier. “ Now. I heard parts of your predicament from Zoltan, but I want to hear the story from you directly. No poetic embellishments added, or I will make you regret it.”

J askier sighed, and recounted the whole thing again from the beginning,  and let Yennefer examine the brand on his forearm .

“So basically, you got in a fight with a friend and you tried to use magic you knew nothing about to make it all better. I hope you realize that was stupid.”

“I didn’t know this would happen!” Jaskier protested.

“What did you _think_ would happen?” Yennefer asked incredulously. “Surely you didn’t think it would turn out _well?”_

“I don’t know, I was drunk. I didn’t think. I just wanted Geralt to treat me like a friend.” Jaskier glared at Yennefer. “If you’re about to tell me I wasn’t a good friend either you can save it, I’ve already heard it from Geralt and an actual demon.”

“He’s not a demon,” Geralt grumbled again.

“Drink your water, Geralt.” Yennefer pushed the pitcher closer to Geralt. “I can feel your headache from here, the water will help.”

G eralt drank his water.

“What was the wording of the deal again, as exactly as you can remember it?” Yennefer demanded.

“I don’t remember exactly, he said he would make Geralt seem like a different person, but he also said he would fix our relationship, and I don’t remember what he said when, or what would count as part of the deal.”

“Alright.” Yennefer looked grim. “Well. I’m not going to get Ciri involved with someone as dangerous as this unless I’m absolutely sure what we’re working with. Believe me when I say I dislike this idea even more than you do, but I’m going to look in your head and read the memory.”

“Oho, no, no you are not poking around in my head!”

“Either I look at your memory, or I call the whole thing off and leave you to your own devices. Dandelion didn’t make any stupid deals; it’ll be harder and take longer, but Ciri can find him without you if necessary.”

Jaskier looked pleadingly at Geralt, who  just  shrugged.

“If Yen says it’s off, it’s off.”

“You are _whipped.”_

“Yen’s studied wish-magic extensively, and I haven’t. I trust her if she says it’s necessary.” Geralt shrugged again. “No offense, but I care a lot more about Ciri than I do about you. Or even Dandelion.”

J askier supposed he couldn’t rightfully object to that, though he’d dearly like to. He wondered if his own Geralt would ever care that much for his Child Surprise.  He wasn’t sure if he like the idea or not. A child would probably be good for Geralt, but s haring Geralt’s attention with Yennefer  was bad enough, a child might monopolize him entirely . But none of it would matter if Yennefer didn’t agree to help him get back.

“Fine, look at whatever you want. What do I need to do?”

Yennefer  turned Jaskier towards her and looked him in the face. “Pull the memory to the front of your mind and relax.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll just think very hard about getting a huge glowing brand stuck on my arm and being tossed into a whole other world. Very relaxing.”

“I have absolutely no problem with walking away.” Yennefer raised an eyebrow pointedly, “I care even less about you than Geralt does.”

“Fine! I’m relaxing. I’m thinking and relaxing, no problem.”

Jaskier met Yennefer’s eyes, and thought about the inn. Which made him think about why he had been drinking in the first place, which made him think of Geralt, which made every disagreement they’d had in the past twenty years flash through his mind. He did make an effort to focus on as many details of the deal with O’Dimm as he could, but it was more difficult than he’d expected. He had a feeling he was failing at the relaxation thing.

“By the gods it’s worse than I thought.” Yennefer sat back and rubbed her forehead.

“The deal?”

“That too, you put no qualifiers or stipulations on the favor you owe whatsoever, but I mainly meant that I haven’t seen that much self-pitying drivel since I don’t know when. Even Geralt’s head isn’t _that_ bad on his worst day.”

Geralt  hid a smile behind his cup.

Jaskier ignored the jibe. “D id you see what you needed  to figure out the deal ?”

“Yes, surprisingly enough, in spite of your best efforts to make me vomit.” Yennefer stood up briskly, gave Geralt a brief hug from behind and dropped a kiss to the top of his head, and walked out the Chameleon’s front door without another word.

“That was informative. I feel very informed. I like how she explained everything to me, the actual victim, about what’s going on.” Jaskier rubbed his aching head.

Geralt  huffed a laugh . “Yen never explains anything unless she has to, but she knows what she’s doing. My guess is she’ll likely send a kestrel to find Cir i. T hat usually works if Ciri hasn’t been transporting herself too  far or to other worlds, which as far as I know she hasn’t. No need, with everyone who was hunting her dead now.”

"Yen keeps kestrels?"

"Not really, she doesn't keep them, they're just magical constructs." Geralt pulled a carved crystal bird skull from one of the pouches on his belt and showed it to Jaskier. "She makes the bird from one of these, it finds the recipient and delivers the message, then dissolves into smoke and leaves just a trinket again."

"Can't you use it to send a message back?"

"Not really, I don't know the magic to animate it.  I’m not sure if it would even work for anyone else, or if they’re tuned specifically to her magic "

"Why do you carry it around, then?"

Geralt turned the piece of crystal over in his hands,  studying it . "I found this one left behind when I was trying to find her again after... things happened. Bad things. I found it and just hung on to it I guess. Like a token.  It felt like having a part of her with me. "

"You are even more ridiculously wrapped around Yennefer's finger than my Geralt, and I didn't think that was possible."

Geralt looked at Jaskier seriously. "Even counting these last few years of retirement, we've spent more of our lives separated than together. And I know better than anyone how quickly even happily ever after can be torn apart. I'm not going to be ashamed of  showing love to my family while I still have them and they still have me, just because someone thinks it makes me less of a man, or because they think a witcher can't or shouldn't feel that way. I don't care what anyone thinks, I've been through heaven and hell and back again; I have nothing to prove to anyone."

Jaskier didn’t know what to say to that, so he just watched as  Geralt carefully tucked the skull back into its pouch.

"It'll take a while for the kestrel to find Ciri, but once it does it won't take long for her to get here."

"What should we do in the meantime?"

“How about a game of gwent?”

“Are you _serious?”_

“Can you think of anything better to do?”

“Since you mention it, yes! I could be in my own world with my very excellent lute, which has probably been stolen by now, writing very excellent songs of heartbreak and betrayal! I could be waiting for Geralt to come and apologize! I can think of many, many things I would rather be doing than sitting in an empty caberet in another world like a useless lump!”

“It’s not _my_ fault you’re stuck here,” Geralt looked at him pointedly. “and it’s not your Geralt’s fault either. You got yourself into this one all on your own.”

J askier deflated. “Thank you. I really needed to be kicked again, because life has not been kicking me near enough lately.” He rested his forehead on the table. “I miss my lute.”

“This is Dandelion’s caberet,” Geralt gestured vaguely at the stage on the other side of the room, “so I’m sure there has to be an instrument around here somewhere you could use. Just not the elven one, he would strangle me with his bare hands if I let anyone else touch that one.”

Jaskier perked up. Perhaps the day was not beyond salvaging after all.


	10. Chapter 10

Jaskier felt much more like himself once he had an instrument and some paper. The lute he’d found was decidedly sub-par, but it was good enough for him to work on his compositions. He found a room with good light and a writing desk and spent the rest of the morning and the early afternoon happily scribbling and working out new melodies, except for a short break for lunch.

Geralt hadn’t wanted to leave Jaskier alone in case O’Dimm came back, so he sat and read some of Dandelion’s books while Jaskier worked. He’d put back on the light leather armor he’d been wearing the day before, but he’d hung his swords on the back of his chair instead of strapping them to his back.

“It’s odd, seeing a witcher reading a book.” Jaskier noted idly, scribbling out a line that didn’t please him and replacing it with a better rhyme.

Geralt kept reading and answered without looking up. “Books are heavy, fragile, and expensive, it’s not practical to carry them with me on the path. Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy reading them when I have a chance. I’ve collected a small library, now that I have a place to store them.” His eyes flicked sideways to Jaskier briefly before returning to his page. “Witchers _are_ educated, Jaskier, our training isn’t all just swinging swords and hitting things. Might not have a fancy degree like Dandelion’s, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t studied.”

“I suppose that’s true. My own musical training was a bit on the, ah, informal side, so far be it from me to criticize. Neither version of you ever struck me as the scholarly type, that’s all.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and continued to read without answering.

Jaskier continued to work, running different phrases and rhymes through his mind.He’d caught his ballad of the world-traveling bard up to the present, so he decided to work on something else. He frowned, thinking. 

“Your Ciri, what does she look like?”

Geralt looked slightly annoyed to have his reading interrupted again. “What?”

“For a song. I want to write something about the Witcher’s Daughter, but I need a description. I know I’ll be meeting her, but who knows how long it will take her to get here. I just need a general idea for now.”

“Well, for one thing she’s a witcher herself, she won’t be happy if you imply that she’s _just_ a witcher’s daughter.” Geralt said dryly.

“I’m not saying she’s ‘just’ anything! And you can’t even complain that I’m being inaccurate because she _is_ a witcher’s daughter!” Jaskier protested.

“It might be true, but it’s condescending. Ciri hates that.” Geralt turned back to his book.

“I don’t think it’s condescending at all.” Jaskier insisted, brandishing his notes in Geralt’s direction.

“Doesn’t matter what you think, it matters what _she_ thinks.” Geralt calmly turned the page.

“The girl-witcher-who-is-also-the-daughter-of-a-witcher is too cumbersome, how am I going to work that into a song?”

“You’re the bard and I’m no poet, I suggest you figure it out.”

“Ugh, everyone is a critic.” Jaskier stared at his notes and scrunched up his face. “Are you going to yell at me or actually, physically punch me if I leave it in?”

“No.”

“Then I’m leaving it in. I can handle a bit of grumpiness about my lyrics.”

“I’m not going to yell or punch you because Ciri will do it herself when she finds out,” Geralt said matter-of-factly.

Jaskier groaned in frustration. “Witchers are _impossible_ to please.”

“Don’t view it as an obstacle, view it as test of skill, a challenge to show off your talent.” Geralt said in the same exaggeratedly patient tone he’d used to put off Jaskier’s questions the day before. Jaskier was already learning to hate that tone.

“Don’t _patroniz_ _e_ me, Geralt!”

Geralt looked up, his eyes wide with false innocence, “But Jaskier, I don’t think it was patronizing at all.”

Jaskier threw his quill pen at the infuriating witcher. It twirled sadly in the air and landed on the floor barely two feet from Jaskier’s chair.

Geralt laughed, the bastard, then cocked his head, eyes going distant the way Jaskier knew from years of watching his own witcher meant he was hearing something a human wouldn’t.

“Yen just came in downstairs, she must have gotten the kestrel off to Ciri.” He marked his place and put his book aside. He stood up just as Yennefer swept into the room.

“Well, the kestrel went north in a straight line, so it must have been able to lock on to Ciri’s location.” Yennefer quickly pecked Geralt on the lips. “I told her to meet us at Corvo Bianco. I despise Novigrad, and all of my tools and supplies are at home.” She patted Geralt’s chest fondly, “And I’m sure you’ll want to trade this light armor for one of your sturdier sets if it turns out you need to do any serious fighting.” She sighed. “I had hoped they would never again be anything but decorative displays cluttering up the house, but if they _a_ _re_ needed I’d rather you had them close by.”

“Armor won’t do me much good against O’Dimm, but it would make me feel better to have it, just in case.” Geralt admitted.

“Alright, get your things together and I’ll open a portal, if that’s all right with you.”

Jaskier began to gather his notes together, glad he wouldn’t have to make the trip all the way to Toussaint on foot. He noticed that Geralt had frozen for a moment, but didn’t pay much attention.

“I don’t like portals, Yen, you know I hate them.” Geralt grimaced and backed up a step, his posture stiff and uncomfortable.

“Geralt, you know my portals are perfectly safe. It would save us a great deal of travel time not to go by the roads.” Yennefer pointed out. Her tone was persuasive, but there was no annoyance in it. It had the feeling of a well-trodden argument.

“Does it matter?” Geralt asked, a faint note of agitation entering his voice, “O’Dimm probably won’t come back for a while. He wants us to wear ourselves out worrying, and he’ll wait until there’s something interesting for him to interrupt, or he can get Jaskier alone. He’s not likely to pop in on us while we’re just traveling on the road.”

“Don’t be stupid, Geralt,” Jaskier huffed.

“I’m not stupid,” Geralt growled, spinning around sharply to glare at the bard. Jaskier could practically see his hackles rising.

“Be quiet, bard,” Yennefer warned him.

“It’s a little bit stupid,” Jaskier pointed out, ignoring Yennefer’s glare, “We’re not going to go all that way by foot if there’s a portal available just because you’re scared.”

“If you’re calling me a coward, I’m not that either,” Geralt’s voice went low and deadly. He took a step forward and pointed at Jaskier sharply for emphasis. “You don’t have any right to judge me, and you don’t get to dictate to me what I do. I don’t owe you anything, and I have nothing to prove to you.”

Jaskier drew back, stung. “Well that seems like an overreaction. I’m just saying, there’s no reason Yennefer and I should have to go to all that trouble and be slowed down just because you have some irrational objection to portals.”

“It’s not irrational!” Geralt snapped, looking cornered, “I’m not asking you to go through any trouble. You and Yen can go by portal if you want to, and I’ll go by road and meet you there.” Geralt took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, glaring at both Jaskier and Yennefer and crossing his arms defensively. “I’ve seen what comes back out of a faulty portal, if anything comes out at all, and I’ve been through more than one unstable portal myself that I was lucky to come out of intact. I don’t want to use one if I don’t have to.”

“That’s ridiculous! Why won’t you just-”

Yennefer hissed at Jaskier, “I told you to be quiet!”

“Hey, I’m on your side!” Jaskier waved an arm in her direction, “I am agreeing with you, here!”

“Well _stop_ agreeing; you’re not helping!”

Geralt growled at Jaskier and gave Yennefer a wounded look. “You promised me after the Wild Hunt was defeated that you wouldn’t make me travel by portal if I didn’t want to unless it was an emergency, and this isn’t.”

“You’re right,” Yennefer said seriously, “I did promise that, and I meant it. If the portal genuinely upsets you, we’ll all go by horse. Saving a few days of travel isn’t worth putting you through that kind of distress, and I’d rather we all stayed together.” She paused, waiting for Geralt’s response.

Geralt relaxed fractionally, shuffling slightly in place and glancing between Jaskier and Yennefer. “I _really_ don’t want to go by portal, Yen.”

“Then we won’t.” Yennefer spread her hands and smiled at him, “It’s that simple.”

“What?” Jaskier protested. “No! It’s half the world away, I don’t want to walk all that way!”

“Then we’ll hire an extra horse and you can ride.” Yennefer smiled at Jaskier, faux-sweetly. “There’s no reason Geralt and I should go through all that trouble and be slowed down just because you have some irrational objection to horses.”

“Oh-ho, very clever,” Jaskier said sarcastically, “Here I am siding with Yennefer of Vengerburg for the first time in my _life_ and all I get is _attacked.”_

Yennefer and Geralt bothgave him such venomous glares he decided to shut up.

Yennefer held both out both hands towards Geralt palms down and waited. With a sigh he uncrossed his arms and took her hands in his, shoulders coming down from their defensive hunch. She towed him forwards and kissed him lightly.

“Geralt, why don’t you go to the livery to get Roach and hire horses for me and Jaskier? I’ll let Zoltan know we’re leaving, Jaskier and I will get some supplies for the road, and we’ll meet you outside the Tretogor Gate. Alright?”

Geralt nodded, looking calmer but still slightly disgruntled,and reached for his swords. “Jaskier, do you know how to ride? What kind of horse can you handle?” He wouldn’t look at Jaskier directly.

“Err. I have been on a horse. On occasion. In the past. I have definitely ridden a horse of some description at some point in my life.” Jaskier couldn’t tell if Geralt’s huff was annoyed or amused, as the witcher still wasn’t looking at him.

“Something too slow and lazy to throw you off, then.”

“That would probably be best, yes.”

Yennefer cupped Geralt’s face and kissed him again, whispered something in his ear that made him smile, then pushed him lightly towards the door.

Geralt swung his swords onto his back and adjusted the harness on his shoulders. He scooped up his full saddlebags and left the empty food pack for Yennefer and Jaskier to fill.

Once Geralt left, Yennefer rounded on Jaskier.

“What were you thinking, you selfish ass? That fiasco was entirely your fault. There was no need to be so cruel.”

“What are you talking about? I was on your side!”

“I’m not saying I’ve always treated Geralt well, because I haven’t. In fact I’ve treated him very badly in the past, when we were both hurting and desperate to find Ciri. But we got through it. We talked, we healed, we worked things out. Sometimes we still argue, but I’ve known him long enough to know what things I can push him on and what things will cause him pain if I do.

“Calling him stupid, telling him that his feelings are irrational and his opinions don’t matter is the fastest way to hurt him and make him angry, and I know this from experience. The portal would be more convenient, yes, but it isn’t important enough to warrant you tearing him down like that.”

Jaskier stared at Yennefer in disbelief. “But he _is_ being stupid and irrational! It’s going to take us days longer to go by road, why should he get his way when he’s the one who’s wrong?”

“I’m a mind reader, Jaskier. I’ve seen the mangled bodies he remembers seeing when he thinks of travel by portal. I know my portals are safe, but the danger does exist. His fear is not irrational or unfounded.” She sighed, “I have forced him to travel by portal in the past, when I felt the situation demanded it, and I promised him I would never do it again. It took me a long time to gain enough trust to even _ask_ him to go by portal, I’m not going to throw that away now.”

Jaskier scoffed. “So you’re seriously going to let him make us ride halfway across the continent when we _could_ get there in seconds, just because he’s too scared to go through a portal.”

“I’m choosing not to cause unnecessary pain to the man I love just to save myself a little bit of hassle. Besides,” Yennefer said firmly, “Geralt isn’t _making_ me do anything. I could portal to Corvo Bianco by myself and let him follow at his leisure, and it wouldn’t hurt his feelings a bit. We’ve done it before. I’m _choosing_ to ride with him on this occasion because I haven’t seen him in far too long and I’d rather travel with him than portal home and wait alone.

“If you prioritize your own convenience over Geralt’s pain, I’m no longer surprised you thought magic was the only way to resolve things between the two of you. Or that you were willing to use magic to compel him.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I know, I _know_ the wish was wrong, and I’m sorry I did it, but this isn’t the same thing. I get not forcing him do something if it was actually _dangerous,_ or using a magical compulsion, but my Geralt gets stubborn over the stupidest things all the time. I’d have to walk around on eggshells not to ever make him do things he doesn’t want to. I’d never get to do anything _myself_ if I always had to do whatever he wants!”

Yennefersighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You _were_ listening to what I just said, weren’t you? It’s not a matter of which one of us gets to make the other do things against their will. It’s a matter of _both_ of us sometimes doing things for each other because we love each other and we choose to do it, never because we forced or manipulated each other into doing it. You do understand the difference, yes?

“I won’t force Geralt to travel by portal when there’s no emergency need, and he wouldn’t force me to ride with him through the lovely swamps of Velen. We’re both perfectly able and willing to travel separately. But I may choose to ride with him if I wish, and sometimes he will agree to go with me by portal-” she glared at Jaskier, “-if _someone_ doesn’t make him feel attacked and put him on the defensive.”

Jaskier looked away, chastened. He’d never thought of it that way, but he did see her point. He thought of the way his-Geralt reacted when Jaskier demanded favors of him, the way sometimes Geralt gave in with only mild annoyance, but other times Jaskier had to fight tooth and nail to get Geralt to cooperate and Geralt stayed angry for days afterwards. He’d never really been able to predict a pattern in which favors called which reaction.

Yennefer picked up the empty pack Geralt used for travel rations, and they set out to the markets to buy supplies for their journey.

They’d almost finished their shopping before Jaskier worked up the courage to speak again. “How do you know? How do you know which things you can push and which things you can’t?”

“You don’t. You ask, and if he says ‘no’ you respect that and leave it alone.”

“But he says no to everything!” Jaskier whined

“Of course he would. My Geralt’s life has been full of things he couldn’t refuse, and I’m sure yours’ has been much the same in that respect. Saying ‘no’ is his default response, because that’s the fastest way to tell if someone can be trusted. If his ‘no’ is always ignored, then he will say ‘no’ to everything, because he knows it will make no difference. If he’s going to be forced into something, he might as well dig in his heels so no one can pretend afterwards that it was something he wanted or chose. If he says ‘no’ and it’s respected, he might eventually feel safe enough to say ‘yes’ sometimes. If it’s something he doesn’t mind or actually wants. He’s had enough choices taken away from him, he’s not going to make it easy for anyone else to do the same.”

“Ah. Yes. I see, I suppose. That makes sense, I just never thought of it that way.”

Yennefer’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. “I doubt you’ve had reason to. Forgive me if I’m making unwarranted assumptions, but you don’t strike me as the type who had a childhood full of horrors you couldn’t say ‘no’ to, which is the major point in our respective backgrounds that Geralt and I have in common.”

“No,” Jaskier admitted, “It was a perfectly average childhood, as such things go I suppose.”

“Then you might try keeping in mind that not everyone was so blessed as you.” Yennefer finished packing the last of her purchases, then shoved the bag into Jaskier’s arms. “Time to head for the gate; Geralt should be waiting for us by now.”

Jaskier followed behind her carrying the pack, feeling conflicted and vaguely guilty. He didn’t like feeling guilty, and he seemed to be doing a lot of it lately.

Geralt was waiting for them at the end of the stone bridge outside the Tretogor Gate, holding the reins of a handsome black gelding, which Jaskier assumed was for Yennefer, and an elderly bay gelding who looked like he’d never gone faster than a trot in his life, which Jaskier assumed was for him. Roach was nearby, sniffing around a pile of crates.

His assumptions proved correct, as Geralt held the bay’s reins out towards Jaskier. Jaskier led the bay a few steps away so they’d all have room to mount.

Instead of taking the black’s reins, Yennefer laid her hand over Geralt’s and they spoke quietly for a moment. Jaskier didn’t try to hear what they said, but whatever it was seemed to ease the last of Geralt’s irritation. They hugged briefly with the arms not occupied holding reins. Geralt kissed the top of Yennefer’s head, then let go and they both mounted up.

It took Jaskier two tries to get onto his bay and he wished he had a mounting block, but he didn’t think it had been _too_ embarrassing. He kicked the bay into reluctant movement, and together the three of them headed south.


	11. Chapter 11

Dandelion had dug out Jaskier’s writing journals and set to reading them. His eyebrows kept going back and forth between being raised incredulously or lowered thunderously, which Geralt found very amusing to watch. When he’d finished reading, he launched into a comprehensive and detailed list of every single fault he’d found, then grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a pen and set to putting his thoughts down in written form, to be sure that Geralt didn’t leave anything out when he relayed the message to Jaskier. Since Geralt had no intention of doing so at all, Dandelion was probably wise to write it down.

“Things aren’t always bad. With Jaskier, I mean.” Geralt said, watching Dandelion scribbling furiously.

“Well I should hope not.” Dandelion said emphatically, not looking up from the page.

“I just,” Geralt shook his head, “I wish he wasn’t always demanding things of me. That he didn’t always think he knows best without even listening to me. That he didn’t always assume I must be lying when I said something he didn’t want to hear.” he tried to gauge if Dandelion was even listening, but decided it didn’t much matter. “But it was nice to have someone around, besides Roach.”

Dandelion hummed absently. “My Geralt starts talking to thin air when he’s alone too long. It’s a bit disturbing, actually.” He finished his sentence with what looked to Geralt like a truly excessive amount of underlining and emphatic punctuation.

“I tried, a few times, to explain _why_ things bothered me. He never listened. I’d try, and he’d just look so _hurt_ , then he’d smile and tell me he saw through my grumpy posturing and knew I didn’t mean it, or that whatever he was doing was for my own good, but he’d forgive me for being ungrateful because he knew I just didn’t understand. There’s no point in talking to him if he turns everything I say into what he wants to hear.”

Dandelion briefly stopped writing to gesture towards the pile of Jaskier’s notes “It’s plain to see between the lines of that frankly horrifying pile of badly-written nonsense that does not deserve to share space even with an angry note penned by an artist like myself,” he had to pause to inhale, “that he does care about you, even if his method of expressing it is appalling.”

Geralt tipped his head in mild disagreement. “I suppose he does, but I’m not sure it’s _me_ he likes. I’m not sure he even _sees_ me, or at least not the real me. He has this image in his head of what he thinks the ideal witcher should be, and that’s what he sees when he looks at me. He gets angry when the real me doesn’t match that image, or else he pretends I’m just posturing or being difficult on purpose.”

Dandelion scowled and scribbled faster.

“He always said he was my friend, but I never knew if I could believe it. It felt sometimes that he was only using the offer of friendship to get me to do things for him, to get inspiration, protection, or whatever else he wanted from me. He never seemed to like anything about me that was _real._ He said he wrote all those songs for me, but the person in those songs… that’s not me. He never cared what I thought about the songs, and he never seemed to care if the favors he demanded in exchange hurt me.”

“If Jaskier is any type or form of me, he would never hurt you _deliberately_. I’ve hurt my own Geralt enough to know how easily it can happen, even with good intentions. He’s hurt me as well, at times.” Dandelion reached the bottom of the paper, set it aside, and pulled over a new sheet. “The problem you seem to have is that Jaskier doesn’t respect boundaries and you don’t know how to enforce yours without driving him away entirely. You need to either _make_ him listen and fix this, or part yourself from him for good so you can both move on, because this,” he gestured at Geralt, the pile of notes on the floor, and the room in general, “is no good for either of you.”

G eralt sighed and nudged Jaskier’s  empty  pack with the toe of his boot. He knew Dandelion was right. He hoped, wherever Jaskier was, that he was a l l right.


	12. Chapter 12

Riding south from Novigrad was a sobering experience. The signs of recent Nilfgaardian occupation were still evident all over the countryside, farther north than even the pessimists back home thought Nilfgaard would ever get. Geralt and Yennefer still refused to divulge any specific details of how the world had gotten into its current state, but Jaskier was very adept at gathering information from other travelers and village tradesmen they met along the road.

He learned that most of the nearby countries Jaskier was familiar with no longer existed as independent states, swallowed up by either Nilfgaard or Redania. Including Cintra, which might explain how its princess found herself free of any political obligations that might have interfered with her wandering around the continent as a witcher.

No one Jaskier spoke to believed that the current state of affairs would last long. Nilfgaard’s power was crumbling after a string of defeats and their emperor’s subsequent assassination, and while Dijkstra was winning a lot of victories for the moment, he simply didn’t have the right blood connections or a large enough public reputation to hold Redania’s empire together for long. Soon enough the surviving nobles of the various kingdoms would manage to rally enough resistance to break away and reassert their independence, and both empires would topple.

He thought he’d been very discreet in his information gathering, until he was in the middle of persuading a rather lovely barmaid to give him some local history, and he saw her eyes suddenly go wide. He turned to see Geralt behind him with his arms crossed, leaning against a table with one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, hello Geralt! I didn’t see you, h-how long were you standing there?” Jaskier smiled nervously.

“I don’t know if your Geralt ever told you or not, or if it’s even true in your world, but in _this_ world witchers have enhanced hearing. I don’t need to be standing right behind you to hear what you’re up to.”

“Yes, I, ah,” Jaskier swallowed, “Actually, I was accounting for that. I thought I was far enough away,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Hmm,” Geralt straightened up, “Either your Geralt’s hearing isn’t as sharp as mine, or you’ve misjudged what his hearing range actually is.”

“Are you angry at me?” Jaskier tried a cheeky smile that sometimes got his own Geralt to huff in annoyance and forgive him for whatever he’d just done at the time.

Geralt sighed and looked at him steadily, unimpressed. “Jaskier, I’m neither your parent nor your keeper. I’m just a guy trying to help you get home, preferably without getting myself or my family in any trouble in the attempt. I am _annoyed_ that you keep trying to sneak off behind my back when I’m trying to protect you from an inter-dimensional entity of evil. If you’re really determined to do so I suppose I can’t stop you. Just thought you ought to know that it isn’t working, so you might as well spare yourself the effort and me the annoyance.

“As to the questions themselves, I still think it’s the wisest thing that you not learn too much about what might or might not happen in your future. I don’t plan to tell you anything that you might use to try to change things. But if you don’t agree with me,” Geralt shrugged, “it won’t affect me either way once you’ve gone home. You’re a grown man responsible for your own actions. You’re free to ask anybody else any questions you want. I’m not going to scold you like a child for not doing as I say.”

“Oh. All right,” Jaskier said,

Geralt nodded sharply and went back to the table where Yennefer was sitting, apparently considering the matter settled.

After that, Jaskier no longer tried to hide when he asked people along the road for information, but the mere fact that he knew _Geralt_ knew he was doing it made it a lot less fun, somehow. Out of consideration, Jaskier did at least try to stick to questions relating to current events or large-scale actions, rather than asking about the details of past history that he or his friends might personally affect.

As they approached Vizima, the evidence of disruption became even more apparent. King Foltest’s former capital city had apparently served as the seat of the Nilfgaardian emperor’s northern power for a short time before the tide of the war turned against him, and both the city and the surrounding area was full of half-destroyed Temerian buildings and monuments, and the defaced remains of half-built Nilfgaardian ones.

Once they entered the city proper, Yennefer went to secure rooms at the Narakort Inn while Geralt and Jaskier stabled the horses and restocked their supplies. Jaskier couldn’t help staring at the many abandoned building projects as he followed Geralt through the streets. Nilfgaard had clearly been ready to spend a fortune on tearing down and re-building the city to the emperor’s taste. Equally clearly, the Redanian empire had not felt it worth either continuing the construction or dismantling what had been started once they took the city.

He remembered the statue that he’d heard had been built in Vizima of Lord Ostrit, for supposedly sacrificing his life to slay the striga Geralt had cured. He wondered if a similar statue had been built here, and if so, if it had survived the years of political upheaval in the city.

Jaskier had tried to write a song at the time about what Geralt had told him of the battle with the striga, but even he had to admit it was a failure. The song had simply rewritten the existing tales to credit Geralt with the kill instead of Ostrit. He’d assumed Foltest wouldn’t like stories going around of his new princess having spent her early years as a bloodthirsty monster, after all.

Jaskier winced, remembering Geralt’s reaction to that. He thought he understood better now why the witcher had been so angry about it. The song hadn’t really gained much traction anyway, and he’d started getting accusations that _all_ his tales of the White Wolf were stolen from someone else’s heroics, so he’d quickly stopped performing the song entirely.

“Geralt?” He asked, looking at a wall featuring a complex but unfinished mosaic inlay of the Nilfgaardian sun which had been crudely painted over with the Temerian lilies. “If I ask about something I know I have no ability to influence or change in any way, will you answer?”

Geralt eyed him suspiciously, “Depends on what it is.”

“The princess, Foltest’s daughter, the one whose curse you broke, is she alright? Is she still alive?”

Geralt’s face did something complicated that Jaskier couldn’t quite interpret. “No. She’s dead. Has been for a long time now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Jaskier winced. Perhaps in this world Geralt hadn’t managed to cure the striga in the first place. He shouldn’t have assumed.

Apparently realizing the path of Jaskier’s thoughts, Geralt added hurriedly, “She didn’t- It wasn’t-” he huffed, trying to straighten out his words, “The cure worked, more or less. There were side effects from the curse, but she lived for years after. She was an adult when…” he made an ambiguous gesture that Jaskier assumed meant either ‘when she died’ or ‘when she was killed.’ He thought the latter more likely based on Geralt’s reaction.

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully. He saw Geralt’s shoulders tightening, waiting for Jaskier to push for more details, but for once Jaskier decided not to ask. There was no potential song in the story, he’d simply been curious, and it was clear whatever had happened was something that bothered Geralt. He was learning to tell when Geralt wasn’t answering out of concern about influencing Jaskier’s future, and when he didn’t want to answer for personal reasons.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said simply, “but at least thanks to you she got to live as a person for the rest of her life, however short it was.”

Geralt’s shoulders relaxed, and he nodded without answering. Jaskier got the feeling it wasn’t quite that simple, but Geralt didn’t say anything else about it and Jaskier didn’t ask.

They finished their shopping quickly and went to join Yennefer at the inn. If Jaskier noticed Geralt making an obscene gesture at the toppled but still identifiable larger-than-life statue of the late emperor of Nilfgaard they passed on the way, he chose not to comment. He was fairly sure that the gesture came from something more personal than simple patriotism, since Geralt had no national loyalties to speak of. He was also sure that whatever story was there would be one Geralt wouldn’t tell.

Jaskier scowled on instinct when they entered the Narakort to hear another bard performing in the inn’s main room. It was frustrating not being able to perform at any of the inns or taverns they stopped in along the road, but he’d had to leave the borrowed lute behind. Besides, the lyrics of most of the songs in his repertoire were about people and events that were over a decade out of date, and the tunes likely wouldn’t fit the current musical trends of this world, either. They were certainly a completely different musical style than the songs he’d heard other bards perform so far.

His clothes were also apparently wildly out of style, but there was little he could do about that with no money. He felt awkward enough about living off of his companions’ coin without asking them to pay for new clothes. Neither of them had said a word about it, and if they owned an entire vineyard they likely weren’t hurting for coin. Jaskier, however, was used to paying his own way for the most part while traveling with Geralt, and it was making him feel like even more of a burden to not be able to contribute at all.

To add insult to injury, in his argument with Yennefer he’d accidentally left all of the drafts and notes for his new songs behind on the writing desk in the Chameleon. He hoped, rather bitterly, that Dandelion would appreciate the product of his talent when and if they managed to both get back to their respective worlds.

They stayed in Vizima overnight, taking the opportunity to visit the bathhouse and get their clothing laundered. Jaskier was somewhat hampered by only having one set of clothes. He made do with borrowing some of Geralt’s until his own were returned to him. He would have felt fairly silly wearing his-Geralt’s clothes, but this Geralt was less heavily muscled than his own, and his clothes were mostly brown and white instead of uniform black, so he didn’t look as ridiculous as he might have.

Jaskier strongly suspected that Yennefer had discretely teleported to Corvo Bianco and come back. She had a different outfit on when she returned from the baths even though she hadn’t brought any bags with her to Novigrad, nor had she brought the other outfit back with her. Jaskier was extremely jealous.

If Geralt noticed the oddity, he didn’t mention it. Jaskier would ordinarily have attributed that to obliviousness, but now he thought Geralt was likely intentionally pretending not to notice. No one who could accurately identify a fool’s parsley plant fifteen yards away from the back of a moving horse could be oblivious enough to miss his lover suddenly producing a whole new outfit. Even if both had an exclusively white-and-black color scheme.

Jaskier was awoken that night by the sound of soft conversion going on in the room. Yennefer had booked a room separate from Jaskier and Geralt, but he could hear her and Geralt speaking in low tones behind his back. He tried to regulate his breathing so that Geralt wouldn’t notice he was awake. His-Geralt could always tell, but if this Geralt didn’t know him as well or wasn’t paying attention, he might be able to pull it off.

“Are you sure about this? Getting Ciri involved?”came Yennefer’s voice. “As far as she’s told me, she hasn’t traveled to another sphere since she stopped the White Frost.”

“No, and if she isn’t willing I won’t push her. I’m just not sure what other choice we have. O’Dimm made the bargain with Jaskier, but it’s me he has the grudge with. Staying with Jaskier at all times will delay him because he’s enjoying watching us squirm, but sooner or later he’ll show up and demand his favor. If Ciri can find his home sphere, we can at least get Jaskier and Dandelion back in their rightful places, fix half the problem.”

“It won’t work, Geralt. If O’Dimm is after you, he’s not going to let us just send the bard back to his own sphere for his own Geralt to deal with. If we switch them back ourselves it‘s only going to make him angrier, and possibly make things worse.”

“I know, but I’d still rather we at least found it. I want to know Dandelion’s all right, and that O’Dimm isn’t trying for a double-play, getting to Dandelion while he’s alone and stranded in a strange world with no idea what happened. Even if all Ciri can do is tell him what’s going on and to wait and not to make any deals with strange merchants, I think it’s worth the risk.”

Yennefer sighed. “I’m still not happy about it, but you’re right. We can’t just switch them back and risk it backfiring on us, but knowing which sphere he came from can only be an advantage.”

“Believe me, I’m not happy about it, either. I’d rather Ciri stayed a hundred miles from this, but this is the only thing I can think to try.”

They continued talking softly, but Jaskier dozed off again and didn’t hear the rest.

In the morning they rode southwards and left Vizima behind. If Jaskier noticed that on the way to the stables Yennefer also made an obscene gesture at the emperor’s broken statue, he didn’t mention that, either.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corvo Bianco in the games does not have any windows, but I call bullshit on that so Corvo Bianco has a nice big window now. It’s in the back wall directly opposite the front door, if you’ve played the game and want to picture it. If you’re a stickler for canon feel free to imagine that at some point in the last three years Geralt accidentally blew a hole in the wall messing around with his bombs, which Yen told him not to do in the house about a thousand times, and it turned out they liked having actual sunlight in the house so much they stuck a window in the hole and patched around it instead of closing it up the way it was.

Jaskier gawked when they finally rode up to Corvo Bianco. The house itself was rather small, but the grounds were extensive and gorgeously maintained. It was the last place he’d ever have expected either Geralt or Yennefer to retire; the house too modest for Yennefer and the estate too patrician for Geralt, but they both seemed happy to return, so clearly his assumptions were unfounded.

They dismounted in the courtyard and led the horses into a small stable. A tall, lanky black mare was already stabled there, which made Geralt and Yennefer smile.

“Ciri must have beaten us here,” Geralt said, reaching out to pet the black’s nose and nearly having his fingers bitten off for his trouble. “That’s definitely her horse Kelpie.”

One of the vineyard’s workers must have run ahead to the house because they’d only crossed half the courtyard when the door to the main house flew open and a white-haired woman came running to meet them.

“Geralt! Yennefer!” the woman, who Jaskier assumed must be Ciri, threw herself into Geralt’s arms and laughed as he picked her up and spun her around. She held on to Geralt tightly for a few seconds, and then pulled back so she could look at him. “Yennefer’s note told me you needed my help on an _urgent matter_ _.”_ She said ‘urgent matter’ in an exaggeratedly dire tone. “What are you doing getting mixed up in any ‘urgent matters’ again? I thought you were supposed to be retired, old man!”

“I didn’t plan to,” Geralt defended himself, “it just happened. It literally fell on me out of the sky.”

“That’s what you _always_ say, dearest.” Yennefer smiled teasingly at him, pushing him gently out of the way so she could hug Ciri as well. Geralt put his arms around both of them and they held each other a moment before pulling away.

“Bard! Stop gawking and come here.” Yennefer called to Jaskier, who’d hung back from the little family’s reunion, feeling a bit awkward. “This is Cirilla, our daughter.”

“Of course, since you asked so charmingly!” Jaskier approached and bowed to Ciri with a flourish. “The bard Jaskier, at your service, fair maiden.” He looked up in time to see a grimace pass across her face, and only then noticed the old scar bisecting her left cheek. Oh dear, that might have been a tactless remark. “I’m afraid the ‘urgent matter’ at hand is a bit my fault.”

Ciri gestured Jaskier towards  the house . “ Come in. We can sit  and  you can  tell me  exactly what happened, in your own words .”

“You don’t want to give him that much leeway,” Geralt warned her, “Trust me, I’ve listened to him when he’s composing.”

“Ex _cuse_ you!” Jaskier gasped in outrage.

“Now now, both of you behave!” Yennefer scolded, shooing them towards the door. 

If the vineyard didn’t look like a witcher’s place of residence, the interior of the house certainly left no doubt. There were racks with different types of armor and sword displays practically lining the walls. Jaskier assumed the armor must be specifically designed for witchers, as none of it looked like any other armor he’d ever seen. In the center of the main room was a long table, and that’s where they all sat down. Jaskier and Ciri sat across from each other, with Geralt on Ciri’s right and Yen at the end of the table between Ciri and Jaskier.

“In your own words, but as accurately as you can manage, then.” Ciri amended, leaning forward and resting her forearms on the table. Jaskier had noticed that Geralt also seemed unable to sit straight for any length of time without bending forward. He wondered if it was a subconscious habit from wearing two full-size longswords on their backs day in and day out for years. 

Jaskier knew the swords themselves weren’t terribly heavy, likely weighing only two or three pounds apiece.  T hey were  longer than the  one his-Geralt carried, and  he’d noticed  the  double scabbard made the swords rest lower down on the back.  Those factors made it difficult to sit without  the sheathed blades  bumping or getting caught on anything.

L ooking at the two witchers sitting side-by-side, Jaskier found himself marveling at how much they looked alike. Her hair was stark white just like his,  their swords, clothing, and armor were similar styles.  T hey both even had scars crossing the left side of their faces. Only the eyes were different, his golden and cat-pupiled, hers bright green and human.

Jaskier blinked and remembered he was supposed to be answering Ciri’s question, not staring. He was getting quite tired of repeating the story  to everyone he met . Every time he told it he felt more stupid.

Ciri listened carefully, then asked to see the brand on Jaskier’s forearm. “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “Avallac’h did teach me how to trace an item back to the sphere it originally came from, but it’s been a very long time since I tried it and I wouldn’t want to risk it on a living being.”

“You could use something he brought with him,” Geralt suggested. “Maybe his doublet, or a boot.”

Ciri nodded agreement. “That should work. That way  we’ll be able to make another attempt  if I mess up and the  first item is  lost or destroyed.”

“Excuse the interruption,” Jaskier raised a finger for attention, “but did you say lost or destroyed? Could you elaborate on that please?”

Ciri brushed his concern aside, with what Jaskier felt was undue dismissiveness. “Don’t worry, the only risky part is figuring out which  sphere to take you back to. Actually taking you there is  perfectly safe once I know where to go.”

Geralt made a face that suggested he wasn’t quite so confident, which Jaskier did not find reassuring at all.  For his own peace of mind he decided to assume Geralt’s attitude towards portals extended to whatever Ciri did to jump between  the spheres .

“You do realize of course,” Yennefer said, “that Ciri returning you to your own world and retrieving Dandelion would only solve half the problem. You’re still in debt to O’Dimm, and there is quite literally no limit to what he might ask you to do. We could manage to return you home only for him to demand you come right back here as his favor.”

Jaskier shuddered. “ Geralt, t he time you fought O’Dimm before, when you  outsmarted him,  w hat were the stipulations on that?”

Geralt  grimaced . “ I was as careless as you; I didn’t make any.  I’m not sure how much adding any stipulations would have helped  though ,  dealing with O’Dimm . The man I helped escape his deal, Olgierd von Everec, traded his soul for three  impossible  wishes,  on the  condition that O’Dimm could only  fulfill the wishes by proxy, and could only collect  his payment  when  all three were fulfilled and he and O’Dimm stood together on the face of the moon. O’Dimm  still  managed it.”

“But you did get him out of the deal? Could you do it again?” Jaskier asked hopefully.

“I wagered both my own soul and Olgierd’s that I could beat O’Dimm in a game. I won, and now it seems O’Dimm concocted this entire scheme just to get back at me for it.” Geralt shook his head slowly, “I don’t think I’d like the consequences if I tried it again whether I won or not, but O’Dimm did offer to wager with me again when he showed up at the Chameleon, so it’s technically a possibility.”

“Absolutely not!” Yennefer and Ciri said in chorus.

“I held you while you died in Rivia! I tore what was left of you away from the Wild Hunt after you traded yourself for Yennefer!” Ciri said, her eyes glittering with such anger even from the memory that it made Jaskier suddenly a bit afraid of her, “I have no intention of going through either of those scenarios again! I don’t want you wagering yourself!”

“I agree,” Yennefer said firmly. “Clearly a rematch is exactly what O’Dimm wants, or he wouldn’t have shown up at the Chameleon to flaunt his advantage and plant the idea. Whatever ‘game’ he chose would be something he’d specifically designed for you to be unable to win. It would be suicide.”

Geralt sighed and rubbed his face. “It’s certainly not something I’ll consider as long as we have any other choice, but he’s  sure to try to back us into a corner where there  _isn’t_ any other choice.  We’ll try everything else we can first, but it’s still a last ditch option. ”

“It’s not an option at all!” Ciri grabbed Geralt’s wrist and stared at him until he met her eyes. “Geralt! Promise me you won’t run out and do anything stupid and self-sacrificing. We _will_ find another way.”

“I’m not going to throw my life away without reason, Ciri, I promise you that.” He put his free hand over hers where she was holding on to his wrist.

Ciri’s shoulders slumped with relief, but Jaskier not ed that Geralt hadn’t quite made the promise she’d asked for. 

Yennefer had obviously also noticed; she was staring at Geralt with mingled fear and anger, and Geralt was pointedly avoiding her gaze. Apparently deciding not to confront him in front of Ciri, Yennefer slapped the table with both hands and stood up.

“Fine. We can’t plan any farther without knowing what O’Dimm’s next move is going to be, so for now our priority is for Ciri to locate which sphere he took Jaskier from. Bard, give Ciri something to work with. Geralt, go put on something presentable. It’s getting late and the two of us are going to Beauclair for dinner. There’s a thing or two I think we need to talk about.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update because this one is too short to count. :) Also the chapter count has been updated because apparently I can't count, either. :)

“And I said I didn’t want him assuming he could demand favors from me just because he wrote songs about me that I didn’t even ask for or want, and he looks me in the eye and says ‘Yet here we are’! What does _that_ mean?!” Geralt waved his empty tankard around for emphasis. He wasn’t sure what number it was, but the number was probably large. He didn’t think he was drunk, but he was definitely speaking more freely than he generally would.

“What _does_ that mean?” Dandelion looked thoroughly befuddled. He’d had a probably-large number of drinks as well. Geralt was almost sure the bard was drunk, but in his own compromised state he was finding it a bit difficult to tell.

“Means he _knew_ I didn’t want to and didn’t care. I had to do it anyway because it’s what _he_ wanted,” Geralt scowled.

They’d been stuck in the inn for several days now waiting for the mysterious Ciri to arrive, and they were both going a bit stir-crazy. Dandelion had moved on from angry letter-writing to scribbling rude feedback in the margins of Jaskier’s journals, but even that could no longer hold his attention. Geralt was wondering if they should seek Yennefer out after all. Even if she couldn’t help, it would at least get them out of this inn.

“And _then,_ he admitted he’d stolen all my clothes!” Geralt huffed indignantly. “Even the spare set!”

“That whoreson, stealing a man’s clothes while he’s in the bath!” Dandelion puffed up in outrage. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“So I didn’t have a choice but to wear but he wanted!” Geralt drooped, “Everybody made fun of me for wearing those clothes. I looked stupid, a witcher dressing up and pretending to be human. I hate looking stupid. I hate fancy parties with royalty.”

“My Geralt hates fancy parties, too,” Dandelion looked a bit misty-eyed, “I miss my Geralt.”

Geralt patted him on the back, sympathetically. He liked Dandelion. The older bard was a bit silly and overdramatic, but he never pushed Geralt for anything Geralt didn’t want to tell him, and even though Dandelion loved to talk, he always stopped and listened if Geralt had something to say.

“Did you make yours wear sad clothes to Pavetta’s betrothal?” Geralt asked.

“I wasn’t there; I wasn’t invited. Queen Calanthe invited Geralt personally, if under false pretenses.” Dandelion thought hard, “He _did_ tell me Calanthe tried to pass him off as a knight, so there probably was a disguise of some sort involved. I never asked.”

“Better a knight than a sad silk trader,” Geralt said gloomily.

It was Dandelion’s turn to pat Geralt on the back sympathetically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the bath scene is fandom’s favorite scene ever, but the power dynamics of it are actually really creepy. Geralt is naked, Jaskier is clothed. Geralt has no clothes he can put on except the ones Jaskier picked because Jaskier took Geralt’s clothes without his knowledge or permission. Jaskier physically removes a beverage from Geralt’s hand because he doesn’t think Geralt should have it, speaks to Geralt in a very condescending and dismissive way throughout the scene, culminating with that famous exchange “I need no one, and the last thing I want is anyone needing me” / “And yet here we are.” This is not a declaration of love. It’s Geralt saying “I don’t want the things you’re pushing on me, and I don’t want to do the things you’re demanding of me in return,” and Jaskier saying “Too bad, it doesn’t matter what you want. I got myself in a mess and you have to get me out of it.”
> 
> I think this note is longer than the actual chapter. Anyway. I hate that scene more every time it gets shoved in my face with romantic heart filters all over it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am bullshitting how Ciri's powers work because neither the books nor the games gave a coherent explanation.

Jaskier sat in his chair, twiddling his thumbs and musing that, if he'd ever bothered to think of it at all, he'd never have thought interdimensional magic would be so boring. Apparently the deep special magic to find Jaskier's own world involved sitting in his shirt and trousers, with every other item he'd brought with him scattered around the room while Ciri stared at him and each item in turn and blinked a lot. She said she was "finding the sameness in the differences," which made no sense whatsoever to Jaskier.

At least they’d moved to the sitting room, where the chairs were more comfortable. He hoped Geralt was having more fun.

"So, Ciri, is it alright if I ask you questions while you stare at things?"

Ciri nodded, blinking some more. "I don't really need to concentrate, I just need to keep looking until my..." she trailed off and make a gesture Jaskier couldn't begin to interpret, "...until my mind sees the sameness. It’s like waiting for your eyes to adjust, except not."

"... I will pretend I know what that means, and hope your other answers make more sense." Jaskier decided.

Ciri laughed. "You should just nod and say 'I'm sure you know what you're doing, just let me know if you need any help.' That's what Geralt always says when he has no idea what I’m talking about." Her imitation of Geralt’s voice made Jaskier chuckle.

"Is Geralt generally sitting around in his bare feet and shirtsleeves watching you stare at his left boot when he says this?" Jaskier gestured at himself and the various items strewn all over the room.

"It would be far from the silliest thing he's done because I asked." Apparently Ciri's powers allowed her to detect fiendish glee without even looking, because she immediately doused all of Jaskier's hopes and dreams by adding "I am not telling you any embarrassing stories about Geralt, so don't bother asking."

"Ugh, I shall never recover from the disappointment. Let me ask you something else then. How does the princess of Cintra end up as a free-roaming witcheress? My Geralt's firmly convinced he'll never go to claim his Child Surprise."

Ciri frowned. "Don't call me a witcheress, that sounds stupid. And Geralt doesn't want me to tell you too much."

"Geralt isn't here." Jaskier pointed out, with a playful smile. "Also, you're an adult and he can't tell you what to do."

"I don't want to talk about it, either. It’s over, it doesn’t matter."

"How am I supposed to write a ballad of how the Princess became the Witcher's Daughter if no one will tell me the details?" Jaskier threw his hands up in mock frustration. He didn’t really expect her to tell him anything, but it was fun to tease.

Ciri glared at him before returning her attention to the boot. "You _don’t,_ that’s how."

"I understand Geralt being mad about songs that aren’t true, but I don't see how you can rightfully complain when I'm trying to be accurate! You _are_ , or were, a princess and you _are_ a witcher's daughter, why can’t I write about that?"

"Because I am telling you not to, and it's my story.” Ciri switched from staring at Jaskier’s left boot to staring at his doublet.

"What's wrong with Witcher's Daughter? You’re not ashamed of it, are you?" Jaskier challenged.

"Of course I'm not ashamed of it. I don't care if you sing about me _being_ Geralt’s daughter, but." Ciri thought for a moment. "Would you ever write a song about Geralt and call it the Witcher's Father? No, you wouldn't, you wouldn't even think about it. You might include that he _is_ a witcher's father, but you wouldn't use it as the title or turn it into his whole identity.”

“That is a point, yes, I see what you mean,” Jaskier acknowledged, granting her a point in the game.

“Dandelion’s written a lot of songs about all of us, but even when the _events_ are made up he doesn’t diminish who we _are._ Well,” she tipped her head to the side, “there was one song many years ago where he said Yennefer’s heart was hard as a diamond, but she’d done something that hurt Geralt very badly at the time and he was angry.”

Jaskier’s mind went to the newly-finished copy of _Her Sweet Kiss_ he’d left behind on the desk in Novigrad. He and Dandelion had some things in common, then, beyond the impulse to follow a witcher across the continent.

“Well. If I don’t refer to you as a princess or as the witcher’s daughter, will you tell me the story?” he offered, trying a new angle of attack.

“No. I don’t want to. Besides, Geralt doesn’t want you to know, and it’s as much his story as mine. I’m not telling you anything about it, period. I don’t owe you anything. Keep asking and I’ll make you sorry you did.”

Jaskier groaned let his head fall back, playing up his frustration just to tease her. “Why does every witcher I meet try to hamper my creative freedom! It’s not fair! It’s oppression!” He yelped as his own boot suddenly struck him with great force. The heel thumped into his chest and the high shaft flopped up to slap him in the face. “What was _that_ for?!”

“I _told_ you you’d be sorry if you didn’t stop.” Ciri glared at him resentfully, and Jaskier realized she was actually annoyed, not playing. “I’ve had kings and emperors try to exploit me and I didn’t let them. I certainly won’t give you my life story when I don’t want to just so you can sell _songs.”_

“You know, Geralt mentioned there might be yelling and punching, but he didn’t actually warn me about flying boots.” Jaskier winced. His mouth always said such stupid things when he was stressed, and it never asked his brain before it said them.

“He should have warned you about the _knives_ _.”_ She was still glaring at him. “Will you leave it alone now?”

“Of course, yes.” He rubbed at his chest where he was sure he’d find a bruise later. “I apologize for pushing you, and I promise I won’t ask anymore. I was mostly just teasing, I didn’t mean to upset you. Is there anything I can write about that _wouldn’t_ offend you?”

“You can write whatever drivel you want about me fighting monsters, I don't care about the lore being accurate like Geralt does, but don't you dare paint me as a lost princess or as just a witcher's daughter. I am a _witcher_ , and that's all I've ever wanted to be, ever since I was a child.” She shrugged and went back to staring at his doublet with slightly unfocused eyes, her irritation fading. “Or you can write about what’s happening now, I don’t mind about that either.”

“It shall be as you say, fair- uh, valiant witcher.” Jaskier corrected himself mid-sentence, which made Ciri smirk. “I shall stick to generalities and current events only, then. Although I may leave this bit out entirely. Even my vast talent couldn’t make all this sitting around and staring and being unexpectedly threatened with death by flying boot into a song.”

He watched Ciri stare for a few minutes before his boredom overcame him again. “Can you explain at _all_ what you’re looking for?”

Ciri scrunched her face up and switched her attention to Jaskier’s handkerchief sitting on the sideboard. “I’m not really _looking_ , per se. I’m not sure what to call it. It’s like when I ask Geralt what it’s like to follow a trail by scent alone, and the only way he can think to describe it is that it’s like following a narrow trail of red smoke. I know that’s not actually what it’s like at all, but there’s no way for him to explain it any better to someone without the same senses he has.

“Things that come from one sphere have a different… aura, or maybe resonance is a better word, than things from any other. When I can pinpoint what it is that’s the same between all your things but different from things in this world, I’ll be able to go between the spheres and there’ll be-” Ciri made another indecipherable gesture “-a silver thread, leading from the object to the sphere it’s from. Except it isn’t a silver thread, and I don’t actually see it. And that’s not really what it’s like at all.”

“Will it mortally offend you if I just call it a ‘silver thread of magic’ in the ballad?” Jaskier asked cautiously.

Ciri snorted. “No.”

“Good. At this point I felt it prudent to check. I’m not sure my delicate constitution could handle having anything else thrown at me at this point.”

“Well. There is one more thing I wanted to make clear to you, while Yennefer and Geralt aren’t here.”

“Oh dear. I don’t like the sound of it already.” Jaskier shifted nervously.

“I don’t mean for you to like it. I’m not stupid, Jaskier. I know the difference between Geralt promising me he won’t do something, and him promising not to do it _without reason_ _._ And I know what he’s like. If O’Dimm demands something you can’t do, or something he can’t live with _letting_ you do, he’s going to make a wager to get you out of it, and nothing I say or anything Yennefer is probably saying now that I can’t hear is going to stop him.”

Ciri stopped looking at the handkerchief and her icy green eyesstared straight into Jaskier’s. Her face was suddenly cold and deadly, holding a more genuine threat than even her father’s glares,“I’ve lost him too many times already. I’ve seen him hurt. I’ve seen him bleed to death after trying to save total strangers. Even worse, I’ve seen him reduced to a broken, mindless slave by monsters who only took him because they knew he was so dear to me.”

“Ciri, I-” Jaskier tried to interject.

“No, you listen to me!” Ciri cut him off with a sharp slashing motion of her hand, “I never, _ever_ want to see any of those things again. If anything happens to Geralt, if he gets himself killed, or crippled, or he loses his soul, or his freedom, or _anything,_ because he tried to save you from your own stupid, selfish bargain, I won’t kill you. I will make you _wish_ for death. You will _miss_ the days when O’Dimm was the scariest person coming after you. Do you understand me?”

Jaskier swallowed and nodded with wide eyes. “I understand. I’m not sure what I can do about it now to prevent it, but I absolutely understand.”

He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “I know… I know what you all seem to think, but I _do_ care about Geralt. Both Geralts. Believe me, I would never do something on _purpose_ to hurt him or put him in danger. I know I’ve not always been a very good friend, But I _do_ plan to do better, if I get the chance.”

“I believe you.” Ciri said evenly. “If I thought you _did_ mean him any harm, I would have already gone for the simplest solution.”

“What would that be?”

“Killing you and using your clothes to find Dandelion,” she said, as if she thought it was obvious, “That way, no more debt, no more problem. Geralt would hate it, but he’d forgive me. He always does. And he’d be safe.”

“Oh. Yes. I am very glad we’re not going with that option. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.” Ciri’s gaze went back to Jaskier’s boot. She sat in silence for a few minutes, then her eyes suddenly flicked rapidly between the various items in the room.

“I’ve got it now. I have the trail.”

“Oh good, does that mean I can put my things back on?”

“I’ll need something to follow between the spheres, but other than that, yes. I won’t go until Yennefer and Geralt get back though, so you’re not left alone.”

Jaskier put his things back on (minus his handkerchief, which he handed to Ciri) and he and Ciri settled in to wait.

He was a bit surprised Geralt and Yennefer weren’t back already; they’d been gone a much longer time than could be believably explained by just dinner, no matter how much conversation went with it. Jaskier decided not to speculate out loud about what _else_ they had been doing, since he already had a pretty good idea and felt that Ciri probably wouldn’t appreciate his theories. Some things a person just doesn’t want to think about their parents doing.

Jaskier had dozed off in the chair by the time they returned. From the angle of the moonlight, he guessed it was closer to being early morning than late night.

“Did you get the lead for Jaskier’s home world?” Yennefer asked, seeing Jaskier blinking himself awake with all of his various items of clothing back on, and Ciri holding his embroidered handkerchief in one hand.

“Yes, I just didn’t want to leave before you got back.” Ciri widened her eyes innocently. “You were gone an awfully long time, did you have trouble on the road to Beauclair?”

Geralt chuckled and Yennefer shot her an affectionately reproachful look.

“We had a delightful dinner and a lovely conversation, thank you for asking.” Yennefer said. “It’s just as well you waited, Ciri, you shouldn’t go out tonight when you’re tired. Tomorrow morning is soon enough.”

Ciri shook her head. “If I wait I might lose the trail.”

“Then you can find it again.” Yennefer said firmly. “Doing complicated magic while exhausted is sometimes necessary, but in this case it isn’t. Let’s all go to bed and get some rest. Jaskier, we don’t have a guest bed, so you can stay with Geralt in the downstairs bedroom, Ciri and I will stay in her room.”

Ciri hugged Geralt goodnight, then smirked at Jaskier.

“Jaskier, decide which of your boots you’re less attached to; if your handkerchief implodes in the morning I might need to borrow something else to try again.”

“ _Implodes?_ You’re going to implode my poor innocent handkerchief? No one mentioned any risks of implosion here!” Jaskier felt his voice getting shrill.

Ciri laughed. “I _did_ say I didn’t want to try it with a living being. Be glad it’s your handkerchief and not you.” She did a pirouette and ran up the stairs to the loft bedroom, with Yennefer following more sedately.

“Did she say implode?” Jaskier asked Geralt again, insistently.

Geralt patted him on the shoulder comfortingly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Ciri knows what she’s doing. Come on, I’m tired.” He let the way to the bedroom.

“Oh, I’m _sure_ you _are,_ tell me again what exactly kept you two-” He paused in the doorway and blinked rapidly.

“Geralt, is there a stuffed unicorn in the corner, or have I lost my mind?”

Geralt winced. “You’ve lost your mind. What unicorn? I don’t see a unicorn. You’re hallucinating.”

Jaskier nodded solemnly. “That’s what I thought. The exhaustion is getting to me. I am going to bed and hopefully it will be gone in the morning.”

“Good idea.”

Jaskier took off his doublet and boots, and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.


	16. Chapter 16

The unicorn was, unfortunately, still there in the morning. Jaskier wasn’t sure if he wanted to know or if he really _really_ didn’t. Geralt loudly declared that they were late for breakfast and hurried him out of the room when he noticed Jaskier looking at it, so whatever the reason was must be embarrassing.

The four of them ate breakfast outside, while Ciri tried to explain to Geralt and Yennefer what she was going to try. Jaskier was satisfied that the explanation he’d gotten the day before was about as clear as he was going to get, He therefore focused on eating and let most of it go in one ear and out the other.

Yennefer listened with a frown of concentration, as if she _almost_ knew what Ciri was talking about and it annoyed her that she couldn’t quite grasp it. Geralt listened, nodded and made encouraging noises in all the right places. He reassured her when she stopped for breath that he was sure she knew what she was doing, please let him know if there was anything he could do to help.

Jaskier chuckled, remembering that Ciri had predicted almost those exact words the day before. Apparently it was Geralt’s standard response to near-incomprehensible babble about esoteric magic. Living with Yennefer and Ciri probably had given him a lot of experience listening to these types of explanations.

When they finished eating, Ciri took the handkerchief, briefly hugged her parents goodbye, and vanished in a flash of green light. Jaskier blinked in surprise. He’d been expecting the usual swirling-doorway-style portal, but Ciri had just vanished on the spot with no visible doorway at all. No one would explain to him exactly _why_ Ciri was capable of traveling between spheres in the first place, but it looked like the ability was even more unusual than he’d thought.

Once Ciri was gone, Yennefer went down to the laboratory in the basement, where she kept a megascope for emergencies. She said she planned to utilize every contact she had left after three years of retirement to try to find any information on wish magic she hadn't already learned. Her expression said she didn’t expect to have much luck.

The sun was starting to get hot, so Jaskier and Geralt moved back into the house to wait.

“Did you actually understand a word Ciri said about what she’s doing?” Jaskier asked, sighing in relief as they passed from the sun to the shade indoors.

Geralt made a so-so gesture with his hand. “Some of it. I’ve traveled between spheres myself a couple of times, so I know what that feels like to _me,_ but what I’ve experienced and what she describes are very different. Yennefer probably understands it better; it sounds similar to the way she describes tracing ley lines.

“It doesn’t really matter though, whether I understand it perfectly or not. Ciri’s not describing it to me because I need to know, she’s just saying it all out loud to get her own thoughts in order about it.

“I can’t trace a ley line or follow invisible paths between spheres, but I can follow a trail based on such minute traces that I can’t even explain what I’m following to someone whose senses aren’t enhanced like mine. I know it helps, sometimes, just to say it out loud anyway.” He smiled at Jaskier, “I’ll never understand how Ciri does what she does, but I can still listen.”

Geralt pulled one of the sets of armor off its stand and sat down to examine it, looking for pieces that might be worn or damaged. Jaskier, having seen his own Geralt do the same hundreds of times, was just starting to get bored when Ciri returned with a sheepish expression and no sign of Jaskier’s handkerchief.

“No luck?” Geralt looked up from the vambrace he’d been inspecting.

Ciri scowled. “I haven’t done this in years, it’s harder than I remembered.” She flicked her hand at Jaskier like the princess she didn’t want to be called, “Bard, give me a boot, or something.”

“I don’t actually have that many articles of clothing, what if we run out before you find it?” Jaskier had no intention of returning home wrapped in a sheet. Or not returning at all because he ran out of clothes for her to use for tracking.

“Cut the doublet into pieces instead of using the whole thing at once, that’ll give you more to work with.” Geralt suggested.

“Cut it up?! Absolutely not! No! I paid a lot for this doublet! Do you know what red dye this bright costs?” Jaskier glared at Geralt for making such a horrible suggestion.

“So do you want the whole thing gone in one fell swoop, or can we cut it up and get multiple attempts from its valiant sacrifice?” Ciri said, with more sarcasm than Jaskier felt was strictly necessary. “It’s harder finding the path between two worlds that are really similar than it is to find worlds that are completely different, so it’s probably going to take me a couple more tries.”

Jaskier looked at his doublet mournfully, before taking it off and handing it to Geralt to be butchered.

The witcher sliced it to ribbons without batting an eye, the barbarian.

Ciri grabbed a section of sleeve and disappeared again.

The second attempt lasted longer, but with no better results. And the third. Each time Ciri came back empty-handed her irritation level increased.

Jaskier started eyeing what was left of his doublet dubiously. He was nervous, but also extremely bored. Geralt had finished inspecting his armor and was now reading a book. Jaskier was sure it must be a very boring book. This was a boring house. Retirement was boring, why on earth had Geralt done such a thing?

Geralt eventually got annoyed by Jaskier’s fidgeting and whining, and provided him with pen and paper so he could try to recreate his forgotten notes. He’d rather have had an instrument to work with, but apparently no one at Corvo Bianco played.

After the fourth fruitless attempt, Ciri yelled and shook her fists in the air.

“I don’t know why it’s not _working!_ I’m getting closer every time, but I still keep ending up in the wrong place!” Ciri kicked the nearest chair leg. “I swear this was easier when I did it with Avallac’h.”

“Time to take a break, then.” Geralt said, closing his book and scooping up two practice swords from a stand by the wall. “Come on, outside. We’ll spar and you can burn off some of that frustration.”

“What? We don’t have _time_ for that, Geralt, I need to get this _right!”_ Ciri insisted.

“You’re not going to get it right if you’re too frustrated to see straight.” Geralt tapped her lightly on the head with the flat of his sword. “Come on, let’s go.”

Ciri rolled her eyes, but followed Geralt out into the courtyard without further protest.

Watching the two witchers spar was an amazing experience. Jaskier had seen his Geralt fight men and monsters, but he’d never seen two witchers spar with each other. They were both phenomenally skilled, but neither reminded him much of his-Geralt in motion.

Ciri moved like quicksilver, her actions swift and graceful. The tension had bled from her shoulders almost immediately, and now she laughed as she ducked and spun and launched lightning-quick attacks of her own. She was impressive enough in a sparring match where they’d both agreed not to use signs or powers, but in a serious fight, using her abilities to the fullest, she’d be a terrifying opponent.

Geralt’s movements were slightly less fluid, as if his muscle memory were still compensating for long-ago injuries that his body no longer carried. Despite that, he was still incredibly fast and strong,and something about the way he moved had an inhuman edge to it that even Jaskier’s Geralt didn’t have. Jaskier remembered the cat-shaped pupils, and how Geralt had been able to hear him at a distance outside what Jaskier had accepted as his-Geralt’s hearing range. He wondered if the witcher mutations of this world were more extreme than those in his own.

Yennefer came running from the cellar looking slightly alarmed at the noise of fighting, but relaxed when she saw it was Ciri and Geralt. She rolled her eyes with amused exasperation and came to stand near Jaskier and watch.

“Who’s your money on?” Jaskier grinned at her.

Yennefer made a show of looking scandalized, “Surely you don’t expect me to bet _against_ either of the two people in the world most precious to me?”

“But who’s going to win? You must have seen them spar plenty of times before.”

Yennefer hummed thoughtfully. “In a no-holds-barred fight? Probably Ciri. Her powers are almost impossible for a swordsman to counter at close range. Geralt might manage to hold her off, but he’d be hard pressed to really defeat her. Besides,” Yennefer tilted her head to the side and frowned, “if they ever did fight for real, Geralt wouldn’t be able to go for a finishing blow against her, and Ciri wouldn’t be able to stop herself.”

Brushing aside the obviously unwelcome thought, Yen gestured to the two witchers, “In a friendly spar like this, with no powers or signs? Usually Geralt. He keeps telling Ciri she needs to practice more often without her powers because she relies too heavily on them, so it throws her off balance when she can’t use them. See, you can see the little hesitations where she wants to use her teleportation to get away from a blow instead of parrying it, or to get behind Geralt’s back.”

“In this case though, it will either be a draw or Ciri will win. Geralt’s holding back a bit, I can tell. He’s not trying to win, he’s trying to draw the fight out, let her vent her frustration. He’s not precisely trying to _lose,_ either, but they’re close enough in skill that even the tiniest bit of holding back may let her win.”

True to Yennefer’s prediction,the match went on without a clear victor until Yennefer called a halt, declared the match a draw, and insisted the two combatants go wash up and then sit down for lunch.

Ciri seemed in much better spirits, talking with animated gestures as they ate and describing (with no greater success than before) what she was seeing, and how she knew she was making progress.

Once they’d finished eating, Ciri smiled at Geralt. “You were right, I feel a lot better.” She hugged him and kissed his cheek, then snatched another piece of fabric and vanished once again.

Yennefer put an arm around Geralt’s waist and rested her head against him, looking at the place where Ciri had vanished. “Her temper was getting a bit frayed, I take it?”

Geralt shrugged the shoulder Yennefer wasn’t leaning on. “A bit. She always gets frustrated when she doesn’t manage to do something perfectly the first time. She’ll be fine once she figures it out.”

Yennefer pulled away reluctantly, briefly tangling her fingers with Geralt’s. “You’re right, my dear. I still have a few contacts left that I can try, so I’d better get back to it. Come and get me if Ciri finds anything.”

With Ciri and Yennefer gone, Geralt and Jaskier were left more or less at loose ends, except when Ciri periodically reappeared to grab another piece from his ruined doublet before disappearing again without a word. The time between reappearances was getting longer and Ciri didn’t look as frustrated, which Jaskier decided to interpret as progress.

Jaskier felt a bit guilty. He was sure Geralt had more important things he could be doing around the vineyard than sitting and waiting with Jaskier. Geralt didn’t say a word of complaint about being stuck in the house all day, though. Jaskier was glad not to be left alone, though the boredom was oppressive, so he wasn’t going to mention it if Geralt didn’t.

Jaskier worked on his notes until he was sick of looking at them. He tried to read, even though he didn’t often have the attention span for books. He jumped up and started pacing up and down the room.

“Stop pacing, it’s making me tired watching you.”

“I am so bored I am going to die. I am going to fall over and die on your floor, Geralt, because I am so bored.”

“Are you bored, or just anxious?” the witcher asked dryly.

Jaskier paused to think about it. “Anxious,” he decided, resuming his pacing. “We’re finally making progress, but there’s nothing I can actually do to help! All I can do is sit and wait like a useless lump!”

Geralt gave him a pointed look and gestured to himself and his book, “You think I like sitting here while Ciri’s out there? Sometimes there isn’t anything else you can do.”

“I know that, Geralt, I just wish something would _happen_ already!”

He reached the end of the room and turned around, shrieking when the turn unexpectedly brought him face to face with Gaunter O’Dimm.

Jaskier scrambled backwards towards Geralt, and O’Dimm chuckled. “Did I hear a wish?”

Behind him, he could hear Geralt curse and jump to his feet, his book thumping to the floor. He was probably reaching for the swords leaning against the side of his chair, but Jaskier abruptly found himself frozen to the spot and unable to turn and look.It was likely a useless gesture on Geralt’s part; if swords worked on whatever O’Dimm was Geralt would have killed him long ago.

"Trying to cheat again, are we Geralt?” O’Dimm waggled his finger chidingly. His calm, friendly expression looked a bit strained for once, anger showing around the edges. “Trying to get rid of the bard, send him off home, where his debt won't be your problem? You haven't a hope of managing it. One mostly-human girl isn't going to be able to locate one particular sphere out of millions.”

Jaskier heard Geralt take a few steps towards him, but the witcher didn’t reply. He wished he could see Geralt’s face, to see if he could tell from the witcher’s expression exactly how screwed they were.

“If you're so desperate to be rid of him,” O’Dimm offered, “I'm willing to take him back home myself. I'll even bring Dandelion back, at no extra charge. My side of the bargain with Jaskier is fulfilled either way. I'm sure after this little trip his relationship with the witcher will be vastly improved.”

“Get to the point, O’Dimm.” Geralt growled angrily.

“Very well. I think before you wash your hands of Jaskier here,” O’Dimm explained, “you ought to know what it's going to cost him, due to your attempt to use your daughter to cheat me for a second time."

O'Dimm looked at Jaskier, who was still frozen in place. "Jaskier, I'm going to return you to your own world. In a very short time, Destiny will stop allowing your witcher to run away, and he'll find himself with his young child surprise whether he wants her or not. Sooner or later, once this happens, you and the witcher will cross paths again. When you meet the child Cirilla, at the first opportunity you will take the closest weapon to hand and you will kill her before she has a chance to grow into her powers."

Jaskier could feel himself hyperventilating but couldn't get his panic under control. If he reneged on the deal, if he didn’t do what O’Dimm demanded, he was going to die. Worse, he was going to have his soul ripped out. He wasn’t sure exactly what that meant but he was sure it was worse than death. But no matter what, he was not going to murder a child to save himself from a wish he never should have made.

Jaskier's head swam, and gray started to creep in around the edges of his vision. He pictured the way Ciri had thrown herself into Geralt's arms when they first arrived, the way the witcher's scarred face softened when he looked at her or spoke of her. He pictured her and Geralt sparring together, laughing together. He wanted that for his own Geralt. His Geralt deserved to have that kind of love and Jaskier was not going to be the one to take away his chance to have it. As his vision went dim and he felt himself start to fall, he heard Geralt's voice as if from a great distance.

"I want to make a wager."


	17. Chapter 17

Geralt was laying on his back staring at the ceiling and listening to Dandelion play with Jaskier’s lute when suddenly there was a bright flash of green light and a white-haired young woman with two swords and a wolf’s head medallion was suddenly standing in the room with them.

Geralt jumped and reached for his sword, but Dandelion cried out joyfully and threw his arms around her, so he simply relaxed and waited for someone to explain to him what was going on. He assumed the woman was probably Ciri, based on Dandelion’s descriptions.

“Uncle Dandelion! I did it!” The woman brandished a scrap of red fabric in the air.

Geralt stiffened all over again, recognizing the bright red of the doublet Jaskier had been wearing the last time Geralt saw him.

“Where did you get that?” He growled, standing up.

“Oh.” The woman said, staring at him with wide eyes. “Oh. You’re… you’re _Geralt.”_

“You didn’t answer my question,” Geralt pointed at the fabric clutched in her hand, “Where did you get that fabric? It belongs to someone I know.”

She tore her eyes away from staring at him and looked down at the scrap of fabric as if surprised to see she was still holding it. “Oh. Yes, out of context that could look a bit bad.” She held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Yes, it’s from Jaskier’s doublet, but he’s all right, he’s fine. I didn’t kidnap him or whatever you’re thinking. I just needed something from this world to track, so we cut his doublet into strips so I could try as many times as I needed to find you.”

“What happened, Ciri?” Dandelion interjected before Geralt could demand a better explanation. “How did I get here, what made us switch places?”

Ciri glanced at Geralt apologetically, and Geralt instantly knew he was really not going to like whatever she said next. “It was Jaskier, the other you. He, he made a magically binding wish with a very dangerous and powerful entity called Master Mirror, or Gaunter O’Dimm, and O’Dimm twisted his wish around to make you switch places.”

Geralt winced. He had never heard of the entity Ciri described, but he remembered what Jaskier had done when he had thought himself the master of a djinn. He hated to think what Jaskier had wished for this time.

Dandelion obviously did recognize the name, because he looked a bit sick. “You mean the one Geralt got tangled up with years ago, who-” Dandelion gestured to the left side of his face, “-and all that stuff about eating people’s souls?”

Ciri nodded, looking grim. “That’s the one. Unfortunately. He makes deals with people, then he twists _both_ sides of the bargain around so that first he gives you something horrible that you didn’t want, and then makes you pay for it with indentured servitude.”

Geralt frowned. “Wait. Are we talking about O’Dimm or Jaskier? Because that sounds like Jaskier.”

“It’s not funny, Geralt. This is serious.” Ciri scowled.

“No, it isn’t funny,” Dandelion intoned solemnly, looking haunted, “I’ve read Other-Me’s journals. I’ve _seen_ _the songs_ Ciri, and I can never unsee them. I even had to _hear_ one of them with my own ears. This Jaskier has no right to demand repayment for inflicting such horrors on the world.”

Geralt nodded in agreement, appreciating the sympathy. Finally, someone understood.

Ciri pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh gods. You two getting along is worse than my Geralt and Jaskier arguing.”

“Oh good, they’re arguing,” Dandelion brightened, “I hope Geralt is giving him the tongue-lashing of his life! Geralt here is a perfectly lovely man, but I have no desire to relive the last sixteen years and I _resent_ being unceremoniously dumped in another world against my will because of his poor impulse control!”

“Will you be able to switch them back?” Geralt asked Ciri.

Ciri crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall,“Well… technically, yes I _could,_ but I don’t think that I _should,_ at least not yet.” Ciri’s eyes kept straying back to Geralt with a very strange expression he didn’t know how to interpret. He remembered Dandelion saying Ciri was the other Geralt’s Child of Surprise, and that he considered her his daughter. He supposed it might be very unsettling to meet an alternate version of one’s parents. He’d be unsettled if he met either of his parents _at all,_ let alone an alternate version.

“Why not?” Dandelion demanded indignantly.

“I’ve been trying to find you to make sure you were all right, and in case we needed to switch you back ourselves, but Yennefer says just switching you back wouldn’t get Jaskier out of his debt.”

“What debt?” Geralt demanded, “What was the wish, and what does this O’Dimm want in return?”

“He hasn’t told Jaskier what he wants in return yet,” Ciri said, “That’s why I don’t think I should bring Dandelion back yet. I don’t want to tip O’Dimm off that I’ve found you, because we might be able to use it to our advantage somehow. Plus it might make things worse if he finds out and gets angry.”

Geralt grunted in disagreement. He liked Dandelion, and in a lot of ways he was more comfortable to be around than Jaskier, but Dandelion deserved to get back to his own life. And Geralt was starting to miss Jaskier, despite everything. He was also going to run out of money if they stayed trapped in this inn much longer.

“As to the wish…” Ciri looked awkward, “No good way to say it. He wished to fix your relationship, specifically by changing you to seem like a different person.” She gestured at Dandelion, “So now Dandelion’s here with you and Jaskier’s with our Geralt.”

“He did _what?!”_ Dandelion gaped at her, _“That’s_ why I have been stuck in this godsforsaken tavern all this time?!”

Geralt sat back down on the bed with a thump, staring blankly the floor.

“Geralt?” Dandelion hesitantly put a hand on the witcher’s shoulder.

“I knew he didn’t like me, but I didn’t think he’d go _that_ far,” he clenched his fists, “If he wanted someone else why didn’t he just go _find someone else,_ why was he so determined to make us both miserable trying to force me into the role of his perfect muse instead of just latching on to someone he actually _liked?”_

“You _are_ the perfect muse!” Dandelion declared fiercely, somewhat missing Geralt’s point, “not mine, because my talent is too vast to be limited to singing the praise of only one subject, but anyone would have to be mad not to think you song-worthy just as you are!”

“It must be because I yelled at him. I said he caused me nothing but problems, and that I wanted him off my hands.” Geralt shook his head, agitated, “I’ve been telling him for _twenty_ _years_ to fuck off and leave me alone and he never paid any attention, how was I supposed to know he’d pick _that_ to be the first time he listened to me?!” He grimaced, “This is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ciri said firmly. “Jaskier’s an adult, and he made that deal all on his own, you didn’t twist his arm. But it’s not important right now whose fault it is. Geralt- my Geralt- is worried that O’Dimm might try to make a bargain with one of you while we’re trying to sort things out with Jaskier.Have you seen him? Any sign of an incredibly average sort of man hanging around asking about making deals, being unusually eager to hear about your problems, anything like that?”

“We’re fine Ciri,” Dandelion reassured her. “Aside from boredom and my mental scars from the utter travesty that is this world’s music, that is. No strange people trying to make deals.”

“Good. Now that I know where you are I should be able to go back and forth with no trouble. I want to talk to Yennefer, and see what she thinks we should do before I try to take you back, Dandelion. She’s the expert on wish magic.”

Gloomily Geralt reflected that he probably knew why the other Yen had chosen that particular brand of esoteric magic to study. He hadn’t used the wish to control her or change how she felt, but she _thought_ he had, and since no one but him and the djinn had heard the wish he had no way to prove otherwise. Stupid wishes, always making things worse.

Dandelion sighed, but nodded. “Do what you need to, Ciri, we’ll be right here.”

Ciri smiled at him, took one last glance at Geralt, then disappeared in another flash of light.

Geralt pouted at Dandelion, “You couldn’t have told her we’d be waiting for her somewhere that isn’t this same room we’ve been stuck in all this time?”

“… dammit, I will never forgive myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 is putting weird spaces in everything I post that aren't in the actual text, so if you see any wonky formatting problems it's probably AO3's fault. :(


	18. Chapter 18

When Jaskier woke, he was mildly surprised that he was on the floor in Corvo Bianco, and not back in his own world after all. Then he remembered the last thing he'd heard before passing out and sat up in a panic.

"Geralt!" He looked around frantically.

O’Dimm was nowhere to be seen. Geralt was standing by the window, looking out. His back was to the room, but he turned his head slightly, to indicate he heard Jaskier.

Jaskier felt his eyes welling up with tears and did nothing to stop them. "Oh Geralt, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, it's my fault but I swear I wouldn't have hurt her, I’d never hurt her, I didn't know this would happen I'm so sorry." He knew he was babbling but he couldn’t stop. “Now you’re in trouble, and it’s my fault.”

"You should worry about yourself. I had to wager both of us to get him to agree to my terms." Geralt's voice was flat and dead.

Jaskier opened his mouth, but then just nodded, the flow of words drying up. He was too overwhelmed already to react to any additional bad news.

Neither of them spoke again until Yennefer came back from her research in the cellar. "Geralt, has Ciri..." she trailed off, taking in Jaskier, sitting on the floor with tears running down his face, and Geralt's rigid back by the window. Jaskier could see by the hardening of her expression the exact moment she realized what had happened. "Geralt. What have you done?"

"What I had to,” Geralt said in the same dead voice, “He demanded that Jaskier kill his own world's Ciri. I couldn't let that happen, and I couldn't let Jaskier die for refusing."

Yennefer's hand flew to cover her mouth. After several careful breaths she started walking slowly towards Geralt. "At least tell me you got good terms on the wager, something we can use."

"If I lose he gets me and Jaskier, but he’ll leave you and Ciri alone. If I win, he leaves both of our worlds entirely and never bothers any of us again in any way."

Yennefer’s frown deepened, "Geralt, you know he would never have agreed to such generous terms if he wasn't absolutely sure of winning."

Geralt rubbed his face with one hand, "I know."

"Did he say what the game would be? Where? When? Anything?" Yennefer moved closer and laid a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. She sounded desperate.

"He agreed to tell me, but I had to swear not to speak of it to anyone else." Geralt finally turned from the window and looked at Yennefer, his expression as hard as carved stone. They stared at each other for a minute, then Yennefer nodded slightly and walked over to wrap her arms around Geralt, hiding her face against his chest. Geralt brought his arms up and clung to her smaller frame tightly, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against her head.

Jaskier felt he should leave and let them mourn in private, but he still couldn't stop crying and he felt too shaky and sick to walk. He settled for burying his face against his drawn up knees.

No one moved for a long time, Jaskier wasn't sure exactly how long, before Ciri appeared in a flash of green light, an un-imploded scrap of Jaskier's doublet held aloft triumphantly.

"I found it! I found Dandelion, and Geralt you would not believe..." She trailed off, looking around the room. The look of realization on Ciri's face was even worse than Yennefer's. "No. _No!_ Geralt, tell me you didn't!" Ciri shook her head in denial.

Geralt sighed and let his arms drop so Yennefer could turn around.

"Ciri-" Yennefer began.

"Don't 'Ciri' me!" Ciri screamed. She stared at Jaskier, her eyes so wide and almost crazed that Jaskier believed for a moment she might actually kill him. For a moment he wanted her to. He was moderately sure it was too late for his death to save Geralt, but being killed by Ciri would probably hurt less than whatever O’Dimm had planned.

"I am not losing Geralt again, just because some stranger made a stupid deal and he thinks he has to rescue him!" She stormed over to Geralt and thumped her fist against his chest. “Why do you _always_ have to play the martyr? You’d leave us because of _him?_ Does he matter more to you than us? Why didn't you _wait?_ Did you think I wouldn't find it?”

"Ciri, stop it!" Yennefer snapped, grabbing Ciri by the arms and shaking her sharply. "You cannot lose control of your gifts, not here, not now."

Belatedly Jaskier noticed that Ciri was very faintly glowing, a milky haze starting to spread across her eyes.

“Let go of me!” Ciri shrieked, “Why did you let him do it? You should have stopped him!”

Geralt tried to pull her into a hug, grimacing when she pushed him away roughly. “It’s all right, Ciri. It’s going to be all right.”

“Liar!” Ciri hit him again. “It’s not going to be alright and you know it!”

“You and Yen will be alright,” Geralt amended, reluctantly but firmly.

“No we _won’t,_ not without you! You promised, you _promised_ me you wouldn’t do this without good reason! What _reason_ did you think was good enough to do this to us?!”

"Ciri, stop it!You have to calm down.” Yennefer ran her hand up and down Ciri’s back, trying to calm her, “It won't do any of us any good if you bring the house down around our ears. Come upstairs, lie down and I'll give you something that will help."

Ciri stared at Geralt furiously for another minute. _"Nothing_ will help!" Ciri shook off Yennefer’s hand, grabbed a vase off of the side table and hurled it at the wall, then turned and ran up the stairs to her room.

Yennefer and Geralt watched her go, then Yennefer cupped Geralt’s face with both hands and stared at him intently. “It’ll be all right, Geralt. I’ll talk to her.” She waited for Geralt to nod, kissed him gently, then turned and followed Ciri upstairs.

When the sound of her footsteps faded,Geralt released a ragged breath and covered his face with his hands.

Upstairs, Ciri started shouting and there was the sound of something heavy being smashed.

Geralt lowered his hands and looked in the direction of Ciri’s room, his face no longer stony, but filled with fear and resignation. He pushed himself away from the wall and moved for the door.

"Geralt, wh-"

"Stay there, Jaskier. I’m going to check on Roach."

"But I-"

“I know. Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice was flat, “I know you didn't mean it. I know it was an accident. I know you were tricked. You just made a mistake, you had no way of knowing what would happen. But please. Just stay there. Tell Yen where I went if she comes down."

“Alright.” Jaskier pulled his knees up tighter against his chest. "What do I do if O'Dimm comes back?"

"He won't. I agreed to play his game. He already got what he came for." Geralt left without another word.

Jaskier wasn't sure what else to do, so he just sat on the floor without moving. He never wanted to hear Geralt’s voice sound like that ever again. It was all his fault.

He could hear Ciri's angry shouting and Yennefer's lower but still insistent tones coming from upstairs, punctuated by an occasional crash. Finally the raised voices died down, but it was more than an hour after that before Yennefer came downstairs, looking drained.

She saw Jaskier sitting on the floor and her mouth pinched. "Where’s Geralt?"

Jaskier nodded towards the door. "He went to check on Roach. Says O'Dimm won't be back now-" his voice cracked, "-now that he's gotten what he wanted."

Yennefer nodded, unsurprised. "I'll go talk to him, let him know Ciri’s settled." She started for the door.

“Yennefer?” Jaskier asked softly. “Is there any way at all that Geralt can win?”

Yennefer paused, then kept walking without answering or looking back, which Jaskier supposed was as good as an answer.

The rest of the evening passed in a haze.

At some point Jaskier realized the floor was hurting his legs and back and moved to a chair.

At a later point Yennefer brought Geralt back inside, and the two of them sat together on the couch without speaking, clasping each other’s hands tightly.

After the sun set Ciri came downstairs and sat next to Geralt, hugging him tightly.

“I'm sorry, Geralt. Yennefer explained what happened. I shouldn't have yelled at you, or hit you."

Geralt wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "It's all right Ciri, I don’t blame you for being upset."

After several minutes of sitting in silence, Ciri spoke again, “I found Jaskier’s world. And Dandelion. He’s with the other Geralt. I told him what’s going on, and he said he hasn’t seen anyone who might be O’Dimm.”

“You did a good job, I’m proud of you.” Geralt told her, tucking her more firmly under his arm.

Jaskier looked up dully. “Is my Geralt all right?”

Ciri nodded. “He’s fine.”

Jaskier looked back down. “Good. I’m glad.”

Eventually the sun set. None of them went to bed that night. Geralt finally dozed off on the couch with his head in Yennefer’s lap and Ciri lying half on top of him. Jaskier could see Ciri’s green eyes blinking for a while before she fell asleep as well.

The last thing he saw before his head drooped and his own eyes closed was Yennefer, one hand stroking Geralt’s hair and the other resting on Ciri’s shoulder, keeping watch in the moonlight coming through the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two hours later than I'd planned, but better late than never?


	19. Chapter 19

Jaskier was abruptly awakened by the nauseating feeling of displacement. He groaned, staggering to his feet to find himself in a small open space surrounded by tall hedges. He realized he must have been yanked away by O’Dimm for his ‘game,’ whatever that turned out to be, while still asleep. Geralt, who he realized was standing beside him, had obviously been awake for some time, since he was wearing his armor and swords, and his hair was neatly tied back, not sleep-tousled.

Jaskier looked around, trying to figure out where they were. The small field was longer than it was wide, and from the occasional gaps in the surrounding hedges Jaskier guessed they were likely at the center of a maze. There was plenty of light, but the sky was dark and the light had no obvious direction or source. Standing in ranks, filling the whole center of the area, were rows of clay soldiers, with brightly painted clay armor and swords of very shiny steel.

“Welcome!” Gaunter O’Dimm spread his arms and grinned, floating cross-legged in the air. “Welcome to my own private little world, that I made especially for you!”

Geralt was eyeing the clay swordsmen dubiously. “You said I’d have to get past a series of obstacles to retrieve an object.”

“So I did! So I did!” O’Dimm gestured at the soldiers, “These are clearly a series of formidable obstacles! And there,” O’Dimm pointed behind the soldiers, “Is the object you must retrieve!”

Jaskier noticed a pedestal at one end of the narrow field, with a large wooden cooking spoon sitting on it.

“You will have to get past the obstacles and pick up the prize before the time limit,” O’Dimm decreed. “Come bard, stand here, at the halfway point. Right up next to the hedge please, where you’re not in the way.” O’Dimm pulled out a giant hourglass filled with vivid red sand, red as blood, and let it hover in the air beside him. “Are you ready, witcher?”

Geralt took a deep breath, drew his sword, and moved to stand in front of the first rank of soldiers at the opposite end of the field from the pedestal. “Let’s get this over with.”

O’Dimm flipped the hourglass over, and the clay swordsmen rumbled to life.

The witcher threw out his hand in the sign of _Aard_ and the first two ranks of solders were blown backwards, knocking down their fellows standing behind them. Geralt charged forwards, but as he launched himself at the next row of soldiers, the ones behind him were starting to reform.

One of the figures got in a lucky blow and Geralt went down, hard. Jaskier’s heart leaped into his throat. Geralt managed to twist himself out of the way with a maneuver that didn’t look like it should be humanly possible, and the swordsman’s downward thrust landed on empty air. The witcher grabbed the figure’s arm and pulled himself back to his feet.

He fought like a man possessed, wielding both signs and sword with frenzied strength and speed. He managed several times to make headway, but each time the soldiers he’d destroyed reformed and surrounded him, driving him back.

He had managed so far to avoid any crippling injuries, but he was bleeding from several shallow wounds. No matter how deadly the witcher was in combat, it was obvious that he wouldn’t be able to reach the pedestal in time. His opponents felt no pain and refused to stay down, and it took all of his concentration to avoid being killed outright.

The battle seemed to last both forever and barely an instant. Geralt had barely managed to force his way halfway across the field when the timer ran out. A loud, invisible bell rang, and the clay soldiers crumbled to dust and blew away on a nonexistent breeze. Geralt slowly fell to his hands and knees, arms shaking with pain and exhaustion, his head hanging. His hair had come loose from its tie, falling in limp strands around his face.The sweaty strands hid his expression from view.

O’Dimm laughed and clapped delightedly, drifting over to where Geralt was kneeling, “Such a splendid game! You did far better than I even expected, thank you for the show, but it appears that I have won!” He reached out to lay his hand on the witcher’s bowed head in mocking benediction.

Jaskier felt a scream of horror and denial rising up in his throat, but he was too frozen by terror to voice it. He’d known they were almost certain to lose, but he’d still hoped Geralt would somehow manage to pull off a miracle and win.

“Actually, I think _I_ won,” came the last voice Jaskier had ever expected to hear again.

O’Dimm yanked his hand back as if burned, and Jaskier whipped around in shock to see his own Geralt leaning casually against the pedestal, smirking and twirling the wooden spoon around his fingers.

“I’m Geralt of Rivia, and I retrieved the object within the time limit.”

“Where did you come from?!” O’Dimm shouted furiously. “You’re not supposed to be here! This is _my_ world, how did you even _get_ here?”

“I brought him” said Ciri, coming out of the maze. A middle-aged man in a truly blinding purple outfit stood beside her. Jaskier assumed he must be Dandelion.

“As for finding you, well,” Ciri gestured to herself. “I’m the Master of the Worlds, the Lady of Time and Space. I tracked down the sphere you snatched Jaskier from in less than a day; this artificial little construct you’ve cobbled together is so blindingly obvious I couldn’t have overlooked it if I _wanted_ to.”

“It’s a forfeit! I still win! You violated the rules of the game!”

“You said Geralt had to win the game within the time limit, and that Jaskier had to watch without helping.” Ciri gestured towards both Geralts. “They won the game.” She gestured to Jaskier and Dandelion, “They watched without helping. I didn’t interfere, I only ensured that all the participants were actually present.”

“It’s still a forfeit! I only made the bargain with this Geralt,” O’Dimm gestured to the witcher still kneeling on the field, who raised his head, looking simultaneously relieved, exhausted, and smug, “This other Geralt wasn’t included!”

“You said he was the same person though,” Jaskier managed to reclaim his voice. “At the beginning. When we made the deal. You said you would make my Geralt ‘seem’ like a different person, not that he would actually ‘be’ a different person, and then you sent me here, to this Geralt, and considered that fulfillment of the terms.”

“Exactly,” Ciri confirmed, nodding sharply, “which means that at the time the original deal was struck, _you_ were the one to establish that they were to be considered the same person. Since Geralt’s wager was an extension of Jaskier’s deal, the same terms apply.”

O’Dimm gnashed his teeth and snarled. “Geralt must have told you the details of the challenge, that was against the rules!”

“I swore not to speak of it,” the older Geralt panted, sitting back on his haunches, apparently unwilling to try to stand yet, “And I didn’t. I never spoke a word. I just thought about it as hard as I could and hoped that Yennefer would read it out of my mind. I was almost certain she had, but I couldn’t be completely sure until now. I knew she wouldn’t tell me if she had, in case you were spying on me to be sure I followed the terms.”

“And then she told me, and she and I came up with the plan.” Ciri finished. _“Yennefer_ never promised not to speak of it. You’d agreed to leave the two of us alone either way, so we gambled you weren’t interested enough in us to bother spying when Geralt wasn’t there.”

“It sounds to me like you were simply outsmarted,” Jaskier’s Geralt tilted his head, “For the second time, from what I’m told.”

“That’s the only limitation on you,” Older-Geralt gave a vicious smile, “you’re bound to observe the exact terms of whatever deal you’ve made. You agreed to leave both of our worlds alone forever and never trouble us again if you lost,” he pointed to Jaskier’s Geralt, still brandishing the spoon in a way that would look ridiculous under any other circumstances. “and you lost. So get out.”

O’Dimm shrieked in outrage, his human facade crumbling away to something truly monstrous. He screamed in several languages that Jaskier couldn’t identify, then vanished.

“Geralt!” As soon as O’Dimm was gone, Dandelion raced across the field, his clothes somehow still shining even in the vague nondirectional light, and crashed to his knees next to his Geralt, patting at his shoulders and face trying to look at his injuries, before simply throwing his arms around the witcher and hugging him as tightly as he could.

“You’re getting blood on your fancy clothes.” Geralt pointed out.

“And believe me I will be sending you the bill, Geralt! It took years off my life watching you fight those things! You’re supposed to be retired, you mad witcher!”

Jaskier laughed slightly at Geralt’s offended expression, then pushed his sleeve up to check his arm. He laughed again in relief to see the strange brand had disappeared without sign or scar.

He watched Dandelion and Geralt argue good-naturedly about Dandelion’s sartorial expenses, then looked over at his own Geralt, who was standing alone, trying to balance the end of the spoon which had decided all their fates upright on his palm with indifferent success. He slowly walked over to join him, cautiously trying to gauge his welcome.

The witcher spotted him coming, caught the spoon as it fell off his palm and set it on the pedestal as Jaskier approached, looking at him with mingled relief and apprehension.

“Geralt, I-” Jaskier fidgeted, not sure how to say what he wanted to say.

Geralt beat him to it. “I’m sorry, Jaskier. For what I said on the mountain. It wasn’t fair to blame everything on you.”

Jaskier laughed, for some reason feeling himself begin to tear up. “Well. Not for _everything,_ but there were certainly many things you’d be justified in blaming me for.

“I’m sorry, Geralt. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry I treated you like you were stupid or unable to take care of yourself, like you were _less than,_ even while priding myself on not being prejudiced because I wasn’t scared of you. I’m sorry I made you do things that made you uncomfortable against your will, and I’m sorry for manipulating you into them by saying you were indebted to me for things you didn’t ask for or want. I’m sorry my songs made you sound like someone you’re not. I’m so, so sorry for everything, Geralt, and I’m sorry most of all that I made a wish to try to make you change instead of actually talking to you and listening to you to work out our problems. Will you forgive me?”

Geralt looked stunned, but hesitantly nodded. “I don’t want any more songs about me killing when I didn’t. And I don’t want to feel like your friendship is dependent on me doing anything you ask.” He moved his hands uncertainly, like he wasn’t sure how to say what he meant, “but I like having someone travel with me. I’d like someone to talk to, if I felt like you were _listening_ to me instead of just… cherry picking details out to twist into a song. I, I like that you don’t see me as a monster. I just wish you didn’t see me as an idiot, or as an unruly pet instead. I don’t need a handler or a keeper, Jaskier.” He shifted uncomfortably. “But I wouldn’t mind having a friend.”

“I promise. I promise I’ll do better. And you promise that you’ll tell me when I slip up, instead of letting me run roughshod over you until things get that bad again.”

“I’d like that. I promise.”

“Can I hug you?”

“… all right?”

“No, really, say no if you don’t want me to," Jaskier insisted.

“I don’t mind.”

“Good enough.” Jaskier hugged Geralt tightly, feeling tears starting to well up in his eyes. He had enjoyed meeting the older, more settled Geralt, but he had desperately missed his friend.


	20. Chapter 20

Geralt patted Jaskier on the back uncertainly, then tentatively put his arms around him to return the hug. Jaskier didn’t have much respect for personal space, but hugging wasn’t generally a thing they did. Nor were apologies. Nor was Jaskier listening to Geralt’s objections and actually promising to change his behavior instead of laughing and brushing it off. He wasn’t sure what to make of this, or if he could trust what Jaskier said about doing better, but he was willing to give it a try.

He looked around the strange place they’d found themselves in, to distract himself from the oddness of Jaskier still hanging onto him. He agreed with Ciri that the artificial nature of the space was glaringly obvious. The odd light with no obvious source was giving him a headache, and the grass and hedges of the maze didn’t smell right. He’d be glad to get back to his own world as fast as possible.

He and Dandelion had just finished breakfast when Ciri had exploded into the room and started talking so fast they’d had to interrupt her twice before she slowed down enough for them to understand her. Her explanation still hadn’t been very coherent, but he’d understood that the other Geralt was taking an extreme risk to save Jaskier, and both would be lost forever if he didn’t help right away, so he’d agreed to come.

Ciri had wanted him to help her Geralt get past whatever obstacles O’Dimm had constructed, but when they’d come out of the disorienting soft blackness between the spheres, the hourglass had been almost empty. It had only taken a few moments to determine what the goal of the challenge must have been, and to run across the open space to grab the spoon with seconds to spare.

He watched Dandelion help the other witcher to his feet, babbling at him about the other world and its terrible music. Geralt winced, happy that Dandelion’s voice wasn’t loud enough for Jaskier to hear.

He heard the not-quite-right grass crunching underfoot and looked over to see Ciri approaching them. She met his eyes, and for once her expression wasn’t uneasy when she looked at him.

“Thank you,” she said simply, “We wouldn’t have been able to save them without you.”

Geralt dipped his head in acknowledgment, not sure what to say to her.

“This space is going to collapse quickly without O’Dimm to maintain it,” Ciri said apologetically. “I don’t have time to take you back to your world and come back for my Geralt and Dandelion; even if I moved backwards in time the window is too tight to take the chance that I might miss it. I’ll have to take you back to our world with us. I’m already drained, transporting this many people at once is going to wipe me out. I’ll have to rest before I can take you back where you belong.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grimaced, but didn’t protest. He knew nothing about traveling between spheres, before all this started he didn’t even think it was _possible_ to travel between them. He wasn’t going to argue with the only expert he’d met if she thought it was too dangerous.

Jaskier finally pulled away, discretely wiping at his eyes. The bard started to say something but was interrupted.

“Wait!” Dandelion was walking towards them, keeping his Geralt upright with an arm around his waist and Geralt’s arm across his shoulders. “Ciri, don’t take them home yet! I want to say goodbye!”

“We can’t stay here, Uncle Dandelion!” Ciri called back, “This space is going to collapse into nothing in a few minutes. I’m really not sure what would happen to anyone still here when it does, and I don’t want to find out! I’m going to take us all home, then take these two back to their world later.” She held out her hands, “Everyone hold on, this might be a bit bumpy.”

They all linked hands, and Ciri closed her eyes in concentration. As they stood waiting for her to get her bearings, Geralt got his first close look at his counterpart. The other witcher was broad-shouldered but otherwise built lean and wiry, as opposed to Geralt’s own bulk. The difference in build was likely why Dandelion was able to support half the man’s weight and keep him upright. He noticed the hilts of two swords poking up over the other man’s right shoulder, the way Dandelion had described. It didn’t look any less impractical in person, but he supposed one could get used to it eventually. The witcher’s face wasn’t much like his own, he decided, aside from the long white hair and the yellow irises. The facial scars didn’t disturb him particularly, but the catlike pupils were a surprise.

 _No wonder Ciri looked at me_ _so strangely_ _,_ he thought, just before they were engulfed in green light and black darkness, _we’re somehow_ _too similar and too different at the same time for comfort_ _._

They stepped out of the soft darkness into the courtyard of a relatively small manor house overlooking a vineyard. A dark haired woman was pacing up and down in front of the house worriedly. She looked up when they appeared, and Geralt saw her violet eyes. _Yennefer,_ he thought with a pang, though she looked almost nothing like his Yen, and this woman’s eyes were more of a light violet than the bright, almost glowing purple he loved so much.

The sorceress’s eyes flicked over the group rapidly, pausing briefly on Geralt, before focusing on her lover and the blood soaking into his torn clothes and armor. She ran forward and threw her arms around him tightly for a few seconds, before quickly shifting to take some of his weight from Dandelion, propping him up from the other side.

“How bad, Geralt?” she asked insistently.

The other Geralt shook his head. “Not bad. Mostly just tired.”

“I’ll believe that when I’ve seen it for myself. Dandelion, help me get him to the bed, and I’ll look him over, see what needs to be done.” She pulled his arm over her shoulders and slipped an arm around his waist. “Ciri, are you all right?”

“Fine, Mamma, just overextended myself a little.” Ciri shook her head blearily, looking like she was one strong breeze from falling over.

“Go lie down then, and sleep yourself out.” Yennefer directed, maneuvering sideways to steer the exhausted witcher through the door without either her or Dandelion having to let go. “You did very well; you can rest now. Dandelion and I will get your father settled and decide if it’s within my abilities or if we need to send for a healer.” She looked over her shoulder at Jaskier and Geralt, hovering awkwardly in the background. “You two... I don’t care. I don’t have time to deal with you right now, just… go sit somewhere.”

Once Yennefer and Dandelion had shuffled the other Geralt into the bedroom and Ciri vanished up the stairs, Geralt wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He hesitantly started to sit at the table, but Jaskier pointed out what looked like a study or sitting area off to the side, and suggested they sit there instead. Geralt took one of the chairs and Jaskier sat on the chaise longue, fidgeting and anxious, staring at the bedroom door as if attempting to see through it.

Geralt wasn’t very worried, he’d seen enough injuries on himself and others to be able to tell at a glance that none of his counterpart’s wounds were serious, particularly for a witcher. From what he could hear through the door, Yen’s counterpart thought so as well. At most he might have a few new scars, but with such prompt treatment the scarring should be minimal, and a few scars more or less wouldn’t make much difference.

Geralt considered relaying this information to Jaskier so he wouldn’t worry so much, but he suspected the bard would interpret it as callous disregard towards the other witcher instead of an attempt at reassurance, so he stayed quiet. Better to stay quiet than to be scolded because Jaskier misunderstood him.

Jaskier slumped over and went to sleep almost immediately despite his anxiety, and Geralt was left with nothing to do but look at his counterpart’s house. A _house,_ that the witcher _owned._ On an _estate_ _._ A house full of _things._ Geralt wasn’t sure what to make of a witcher owning so much. He’d never heard of a witcher owning a house at all, let alone a whole estate.

Fortunately before his thoughts could spiral too far, Dandelion emerged from the bedroom looking relieved and sheepish.

“Yennefer says my medical skills are more hindrance than help and that I was getting in the way,” he mimicked Yennefer’s voice, “’I prefer the space you occupy to your presence, poet, go keep an eye on our guests,’ she says. But Geralt’s going to be fine, it looked worse than it is, so that’s the main thing.”

Geralt nodded, unsurprised by the news.

Dandelion flopped down into one of the chairs at the table, then noticed the papers covered in Jaskier’s handwriting spread out in front of him. The poet squawked in outrage, “It’s not enough he sullies my name in another world, now he’s infesting _my_ world with this farcical balderdash?!”

Geralt glanced anxiously at Jaskier, but the bard didn’t stir.

Dandelion scrambled around the room until he found a pen and ink and busily started writing feedback in the margins of Jaskier’s notes.

Geralt watched with slight trepidation. Letting Dandelion scribble all over Jaskier's notes had seemed like a good idea when it was keeping the bard entertained while stuck in the Pensive Dragon. Now, he was dreading Jaskier's reaction when he found out. He remembered Jaskier ripping the djinn's jar out of his hands and smashing it at his feet to punish Geralt for criticizing his music. There has also been other unpleasant incidents over the years that, while not quite as disastrous, were still highly unpleasant.

Jaskier wasn't by nature someone who would launch a physical attack with his own hands, and Geralt didn’t think Dandelion was either. But having heard both bards' angry shrieking separately, he wasn't sure his ears could take them both shrieking at the same time. He swiftly cast his mind around for a suitable distraction.

“What was Jaskier writing about?” He asked, fishing for something he could use to divert Dandelion’s attention.

“This whole world-hopping incident, and it is a crass and blatant excuse to establish his own version of events and shout his own opinions in poorly-rhyming verse, just like everything else he writes.” Dandelion growled.

Privately, Geralt was of the opinion that virtually _all_ songs of that type were written so the author (or at least the author’s patron) could establish their own version of events and have their opinions immortalized in verse. He supposed he could be wrong, though. Jaskier was forever telling him he knew nothing about music and thus shouldn’t venture any opinions on the matter. Dandelion seemed much more educated in the technical aspects of writing than even Jaskier, so he should know what he was talking about.

"Hmm," Geralt shifted, trying to look casual, “Could you write a better song in the same time?”asked faux-innocently, keeping one ear tuned to Jaskier’s breathing and heart rate to be sure he was actually asleep.

Dandelion looked up and blinked, then scowled. "Forget songs, I could have a damn _epic poem_ written by the time _he_ produced anything worth reading at _all_ _!"_ Dandelion shoved Jaskier's notes to the side and grabbed a blank sheet of paper to write on instead.

Geralt gave an internal sigh of relief. Success, angry-bard-crisis temporarily averted. He stood up to gather the loose pages of Jaskier’s notes and set them face down at the other end of the table, where Dandelion would hopefully forget about them, then sat back down in his chair next to the couch where Jaskier was sleeping to wait.

The unforeseen downside of having successfully distracted Dandelion, was that with the poet now occupied with his new masterpiece in progress, Geralt once again had nothing to do but look around the room at his counterpart’s proudly displayed possessions.

From where he was sitting he could see three complete sets of armor. From what he could tell by looking, they were all expertly crafted (and thus no doubt outlandishly expensive,) meticulously clean, and in nearly perfect repair. He didn’t recognize the exact styles, but they’d clearly been designed specifically with a witcher’s requirements in mind. When he’d come in, he’d also spotted at least four matched pairs of witcher’s steel and silver swords of various styles hanging on the walls or resting on stands. And that wasn’t counting the weapons and armor that the other witcher had been wearing for the ‘game,’ which were now likely on the bedroom floor.

Geralt had two complete and fairly identical sets of clothes, but he’d never owned more than one set of armor or one pair of swords at a time in his life, and never any as fine as the least of these. The sheer _extravagance_ of it all made him feel anxious, almost to the point of nausea. What did someone _do_ with all this?

He looked around, trying to find something to occupy his attention that didn’t make him want to bolt. He caught himself starting to fidget and made himself stop. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe evenly through his nose.

“Geralt? Are you all right?”

His eyes snapped open and he looked over at Dandelion, who was looking at him with concern. Apparently the bard wasn’t as absorbed in his writing as Geralt had thought.

“Hmm. It’s. I didn’t think we’d have to come here. I thought it’d just be in and out and back to my own world with Jaskier.” He tried not to sound petulant. He didn’t blame Ciri for being unable to return them right away, but he wasn’t sure how long his nerves could take it. He _knew_ he’d been right to insist Dandelion not tell him anything about this world.

“The stable is down the hill to the right, if you’d like to go see the horses. I imagine horses are about the same in either world, it might be more comfortable for you.” Dandelion suggested.

 _A whole s_ _table,_ Geralt thought despairingly, _with horses, plural. What the hell._ _Might as well see that, too._

“Don’t kill Jaskier if he wakes up and starts talking,” Geralt instructed Dandelion, walking out the door into the warm Toussaint sun. He took the chance of looking around once he was outside. He’d been distracted when they first arrived and hadn’t noticed much about the estate beyond the house. 

He kn e w by Toussaint standards t he  house and vineyard were fairly modest, but the whole place still looked ridiculously opulent  for a witcher . O utside, without the tools of his own trade staring him in the face, it was easier to pretend  this wasn’t a witcher’s home, the home of another version of himself. H e was simply resting on a  well-to-do client’s estate before heading back out on the road.  It wasn’t that far from the truth, actually. 

H e  made his way  down the hill towards the stables, feeling the anxiety in his chest relaxing a bit as he caught the smell of the horses.

Geralt ducked into the stable and closed the door behind him, shutting out the view of the vineyard. Looking around, he saw four horses standing in loose boxes munching hay. Looking in the first stall, he saw a fancy black gelding. Elegant, but too lightly built for a witcher’s horse. In the second was a short, elderly bay gelding, and in the third a rangy black mare that stared at him suspiciously with her ears pinned back flat to her skull.

 _Beautiful_ _,_ Geralt thought, smiling at her, _Built for speed, and plenty of it. Not enough muscle to carry a witcher and his gear, though_ _._ _Likely Ciri’s horse._

The last horse was a strong but plain brown mare with white markings, and Geralt’s smile widened. _This_ was a witcher’s horse.

“There you are, Roach.” The mare came up to the stall door and Geralt petted her nose and ran a hand down her neck. “At least there’s one thing in this world I recognize.”


	21. Chapter 21

Jaskier sat up and rubbed his eyes blearily. He’d been waiting to hear the verdict on Geralt’s injuries, and had fallen into an exhausted sleep on the chaise longue. The light coming in the window indicated it was now early afternoon. He looked over to where Geralt had been sitting when he fell asleep, and upon not seeing him panicked briefly that the whole game had been a dream. Shoving up the sleeve of his shirt, he gave a soft huff of relief, seeing that the brand on his forearm was really gone.

He got up and stretched, then made his way over to the table. Dandelion, whom Jaskier hadn’t spotted at first, was the only one in the room, picking at a bowl of fruit on the table and writing. Jaskier’s own notes had been gathered up and stacked face-down at the very opposite end of the table.

“Where’s Geralt?” Jaskier asked, sitting across from Dandelion and deciding to ignore the implied criticism of his writings for now.

“Yennefer still hasn’t let him out of bed,” Dandelion answered absently.

Jaskier’s brain screeched to a halt for a moment, picturing his Geralt in bed with this Yennefer, before he realized what Dandelion meant. “No, I meant my Geralt, but thank you for the mental scarring. Where’s he gone? I thought he’d still be sitting there.”

Dandelion gestured towards the door. “I persuaded him to go out to the stable and see the horses. He was pretty insistent, before, that he didn’t want me to tell him anything about this world, but he ended up here anyway having it all shoved in his face. I thought it might be easier on him to wait out there; I imagine horses can’t upset him too much. A horse is a horse and a stable is a stable, after all.”

Jaskier thought about the free-roaming Roach and made a face of mild disagreement, but didn’t argue.

“Speaking of upsetting him,” Dandelion set his pen down and looked at Jaskier disapprovingly, “you _do_ know you’ve been upsetting him rather a lot for a very long time, don’t you?”

Jaskier nodded and looked away, “I do, I’ve heard about it at length, from practically everyone I've met here. I apologized to Geralt, and he’s agreed to give me another chance to do better.”

“He’s a very good man. Your Geralt and mine are very alike at their core I think, despite the differences in their appearance and manner of expressing themselves. From now on, you be sure to treat him like the best friend you’ll ever have, because he is. Apologies are all well and good, but they don’t mean anything if nothing changes. Don’t you ever treat him like he’s your flunky, or a fool with no mind of his own. ”

Jaskier nodded emphatically. “I won’t. I never will again.”

“Good.” Dandelion jerked his head decisively.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” Jaskier asked tentatively, “I know what Geralt thinks about foreknowledge, but-” he shook his head firmly, “-I don’t ever want him to be so angry he cuts me off again. I know, I know what I did wrong, or at least I mostly do, but was there ever anything that made your Geralt cut you off like that?”

Dandelion sighed, tapping his fingers on the table in thought. “Only twice has Geralt been angry enough at me to cut me off entirely, though he later forgave me both times. The first time it was I who did the leaving, and he felt abandoned when he needed my support. The second…” he grimaced, “there are so many decisions, so many factors between where you are now and where we were then, hopefully it’ll never happen in your world. But just in case, should your Geralt ever lose his memory, and should anyone try to use that amnesia to take advantage of him, don’t stay quiet and let it happen.”

Jaskier blinked in surprise. “I wouldn’t, I’d never!”

Dandelion leaned forward and jabbed his finger against the table emphatically, “I’m serious. Even if you like the person, even if you think Geralt would be happier or better off doing what this person wants.Even if the memories are bad and not telling him seems like the kindest thing to do at the time, do _not_ stand by and let him be lied to, even by omission. Don’t let him do out of ignorance what he’d never do of his own free will if he had full possession of his faculties.”

“I won’t, I swear,” Jaskier insisted, starting to get upset. He vaguely felt like he was being accused of something he hadn’t even done.

“I broke my Geralt’s trust by keeping quiet, and even though he’s forgiven me I don’t think things will ever be quite the same between us,” Dandelion looked sad, “He’s still my best friend and I believe I’m his, aside from Yennefer and Ciri. But since he found out what I did, or rather _didn’t_ do, he’s never asked me to travel with him or help him on contracts like he used to. Even if I’d like to, I can’t chalk it all up to my age or my being settled at the Chameleon. Even though he’s never brought it up again, I know he doesn’t think quite as highly of me as he once did. I can tell, and I believe it’s because of what happened when he couldn’t remember.” He looked down at the paper in front of him, not really seeing it, “I can’t change what happened, the best I can do is to make sure it never happens again.”

Jaskier nodded, both glad for the warning and sorry he’d asked, “Thank you for telling me, I appreciate the advice.”

The bedroom door opened and Yennefer came out, looking tired and annoyed.

“I’m here to tell you that whatever you were discussing, you’re done discussing it,” Yennefer held up a hand to stop Dandelion from replying, “I don’t know what it was, and I don’t care. Geralt can hear you through the wall and whatever you’re talking about is upsetting him.”

Dandelion winced. “I thought he’d be asleep.”

“He was for a while, but he’s awake now.” Yennefer glanced around, “Where’s the other Geralt?”

“In the stables. He was getting a bit antsy in here.” Dandelion told her.

The sorceress looked unsurprised, “Good, there’s nothing in the stable that should bother him, unless Ciri’s demon-horse bites his fingers off.”

Jaskier gave a startled laugh, remembering the way the mare had snapped at the older Geralt’s hand when they’d arrived.

“Is Geralt still all right?” Dandelion asked.

Yennefer smiled wryly, grabbing a bunch of grapes from the fruit bowl, “He’s fine, just not as fine as he thinks he is. You know Geralt, he’s insisting that he’s perfectly fit to jump up right now and start clearing out monsters from the neighbors’ cellars, but anyone with eyes can see he’s actually thrilled to have an excuse to laze around in bed and be pampered for a while like an overgrown housecat,” she raised her voice slightly towards the end of the sentence, clearly intending for Geralt to overhear.

Jaskier heard an indignant-sounding exclamation from the bedroom but couldn’t understand what the witcher had said.

Yennefer tilted her head towards the staircase. “I’m going to go up and make sure Ciri is all right. Try not to talk about anything else that might agitate Geralt if he hears you. He doesn’t need the stress of worrying.”

“All right, consider the subject forgotten.” Dandelion touched his brow in a casual salute.

Yennefer nodded crisply and went up to Ciri’s room.

Dandelion shifted in his chair uncomfortably, looking towards the bedroom door that Yennefer had left ajar.

“I’m going to go check on my Geralt, make sure that Kelpie hasn’t eaten him alive,” Jaskier said, knowing that Dandelion wanted to sneak in to speak with his friend in private while Yennefer was upstairs.

Dandelion looked relieved, “All right, good idea.” He tossed an apple from the bowl at Jaskier, who caught it with both hands. “Take that out to him, I’m sure he’s hungry. One of the hands should be bringing lunch soon. Marlene usually does her cooking here in the main house, but she spent decades as a spotted wight thanks to a deal gone wrong with O’Dimm, and Yennefer said she went to stay with one of the hands while all this,” he gestured, meaning the situation with O’Dimm Jaskier assumed, “was going on, and she’s been having the food brought up.”

Jaskier stared at him. “Exactly how many people around here made deals with that… whatever-he-was?”

Dandelion snorted, “Here on the estate? Just you, Geralt, and Marlene, as far as I know. At least there won’t be any more now that he’s been banished from our two worlds.”

“Yes, that’s a relief.” Jaskier shook his head and went down to the stables, tossing the apple up and catching it on the way down. He strongly suspected Geralt would feed it to one of the horses instead of eating it himself, but it was the thought that counted.

When Jaskier got to the stable, he found Geralt petting Roach’s nose and murmuring in her ear, apparently able to recognize his beloved equine companion even in another world. He looked up when Jaskier came in.

“Everything alright?” Geralt asked, without much curiosity.

“Yep, everything’s fine, Other-You and Ciri are both resting in bed and Yennefer is keeping an eye on things.”

“Hmm.” Geralt resumed stroking the mare’s nose. “When do they think Ciri will be able to send us home?”

“I don’t know, she’s still asleep. She seemed pretty tired. I have no idea how long it takes to recover from jumping between spheres, but I wouldn’t expect her to be ready until tomorrow morning at the earliest.” Jaskier held out the apple, “Here, you’re probably hungry. Dandelion said there should be lunch at the main house soon.”

Geralt grimaced but took the apple. And promptly fed it to Roach, just as Jaskier had suspected he would. “I came out here to get away from the main house. I didn’t want to come here in the first place. I agreed to help, and I would’ve done anyway, but I thought we’d be going straight back to our own world.”

“It’s not so bad here, Geralt,” Jaskier said coaxingly, trying to cheer him up. “Well, Novigrad and pretty much everything between here and there was horrible, but this estate is lovely! Is it so bad to get to relax in a beautiful vineyard for a day or two?”

Geralt hmm’d and looked away. “That’s the problem, Jaskier. This whole estate, no witcher I know would even _dream_ about owning something like this. It’s not, it’s not that I want to be rich, but all I’ve ever owned at one time is a single horse, my swords, and my gear. I don’t like having this,” he waved a hand at what they could see of the estate outside the barn door, “in my face, making my life seem even worse.”

Jaskier frowned, seeing Geralt’s point, “I’m sure this Geralt didn’t always have so much. He probably just had his swords and his horse and such years ago when he was in your shoes. Maybe we’ll have something like this in our future?”

Geralt rubbed a hand over his face, “That doesn’t help, Jaskier. That’s the trouble with prophecy. If I tried to steer my life towards this I'd probably end up accidentally preventing it.” He looked sad, “I’ve never expected anything but to die alone on the Path, and I accepted it. How could I accept it now, knowing some other version of me had all of this?”

Jaskier crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest stall door, then jumped away with a yelp when Kelpie tried to take a bite of his shoulder. He scowled at the mare and moved to lean against the fat gelding’s stall instead. _Demon-horse indeed._

He thought about the rage and pain on the older Geralt’s face when he described his and Yennefer’s deaths at the hands of an angry human mob. Of the horrible things Ciri had described, and her terror and near-madness at the thought of any of it happening again. Of how quickly and calmly Yennefer had come up with the solution to the wager, as if having her happy ending suddenly threatened with destruction was neither new nor surprising. Of Dandelion’s guilt when admitting his passive betrayal of Geralt. Of all the destruction and devastation he’d seen on the way to Toussaint.

“Geralt, I know you don’t want to know any specifics, but trust me. I’ve only learned a little about this world, and even from that I can tell you these people went through years of absolute _hell_ before they ended up here. We might not end up somewhere this rosy and perfect, but on the other hand maybe we’ll manage to avoid some of the misery they went through, as a, a cosmic balance, or something. I think it’d probably be worth the trade.”

Geralt snorted a laugh, “I don’t think that’s how it works.  Cosmic balance.  W e’ll end up with all the misery and none of the good things . ”

“What if we end up with all of the good things and none of the misery?” Jaskier countered, “Don’t roll your eyes at me, it’s just as likely!”

Geralt  hmm’d , clearly not agreeing, but he smiled slightly  and let the subject drop  so Jaskier counted it as a win.

“Lunch might be up at the house by now, let’s head back,” Jaskier suggested. “I know _I’m_ hungry even if you’re not. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday!” He reached out to grab Geralt’s arm and then paused, suddenly worried he was pushing Geralt into something that would cause him distress. He had promised not to do that anymore. “But I know the house makes you uncomfortable," he backtracked, "so if you’d rather not it’s all right. I’m sure they’d understand. I guess I could bring you something to eat out here, if you’d rather. Not an apple though, I already tried that and you gave it to Roach.” He smiled crookedly.

“I’ll come with you.” Geralt didn’t look happy, but he didn’t look angry either.

Jaskier considered  insisting that Geralt stay  in the stable if he didn’t want to go to the house, but then worried that Geralt might think he was  pushing  him in the _other_ direction.  _This is harder than I thought,_ he mused.

Instead of saying anything else,  Jaskier  just smiled at  the witcher and offered his arm with a flourish.  Geralt made a face but allowed Jaskier to  link their arms and steer him out of the barn and up to the house. Jaskier couldn’t be sure, but he thought the perpetual cloud of gloom hovering over the witcher’s head had lightened just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first played TW3 I was shocked when Dandelion’s plotline came along at how different he was from the earlier games/books, and how different Geralt’s opinion of him seemed to be. In the first two games Geralt teases him sometimes about being irresponsible and chasing women, but he still asks Dandelion for advice and thinks he’s competent enough that he actually asks him to help with several contracts (in a non-combat role, of course), but then in TW3 Geralt suddenly thinks Dandelion is a bumbling idiot, doesn’t ask him for advice or help beyond “Which way did Ciri go?” and his criticisms both to Dandelion’s face and behind his back sound slightly more like mocking than teasing. He likes Dandelion, don’t get me wrong, he still rescues him and does all those silly favors for him, but they're definitely not as close as they were.
> 
> The big thing that changes between TW2 and TW3 is that Geralt gets his memories back. I don’t think remembering their friendship from the books would cause Geralt to put distance between them, so my headcanon is that when Geralt remembers, at some point he realizes Dandelion a) let Triss use Geralt’s amnesia to get him into a sexual relationship that he had *repeatedly* refused in the past without doing a thing to stop it, and b) not only chose not to tell him about Ciri and Yen at all until Geralt started remembering on his own, but also let Triss paint a very negative picture of Geralt and Yen’s relationship without a word of disagreement.
> 
> I’m assuming Dandelion did this either because he thought Triss was better for Geralt than Yen or because he thought Yen was dead and was trying to spare Geralt grief, but either way it’s not good. Geralt isn’t the type to hold grudges (he doesn’t seem angry at Triss herself very much) but it would explain the sudden distance between them when only six months before in TW2 they were traveling almost everywhere together. I think they’re still friends, I even think they’re still best friends, but there’s definitely a shift in their dynamic, and I thought it deserved to be mentioned that the game versions haven't always had a perfect relationship, either.
> 
> Dang my notes keep turning into whole essays.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut this chapter, then rewrote it and put it back, then cut it again at least half a dozen times. I'm still not happy with it but think the fic is better with it in. Today was a frankly terrible day and I stuck the last version of this chapter back in at the last minute, so it probably could have used another rewrite or two. I had cut it when Stressedspidergirl beta read this, so any weirdness is my fault.

When they entered the house, both the other Geralt and Dandelion were at the table, serving themselves from a large tureen of soup. Geralt could see a few bandages peeking out from the other witcher's loose-fitting tunic, and his hair was still hanging loose and unbound, but he was cleaned up and seemed to be having no trouble with sitting or managing the soup ladle. 

The other witcher made eye contact with Geralt for a few uncomfortable seconds, before they wordlessly agreed to ignore each other. 

Jaskier and Geralt had hardly sat down and started to dish out their own bowls when Yennefer came down the stairs. She paused when she saw her Geralt sitting at the table, her mouth flattening with annoyance even as her eyes softened. She came up behind the witcher and draped her arms over his shoulders to hug him from behind. "And just what are you doing out of bed, witcher?" She said mock-sternly, tilting her head to see his face from the side.

The other  Geralt smiled softly and leaned back into her embrace, holding both of her hands in one of his where they were clasped over his chest. "There's a thing about me you may not have noticed," he said wryly, "I'm not very good at following orders." 

Yennefer snorted, "Believe me, I've noticed."

"Also, I smelled the soup and  no one came to feed me ."  The witcher sighed tragically.

Yennefer gently disentangled herself and reached for one of the empty bowls. "You poor thing, neglected like that. I should have known you'd be up and about the minute I took my eyes off you." She ladled soup into her bowl and sat down next to her lover, "Which means, dearest, that I'll simply have to not let you out of my sight for a while."

Geralt fixed his eyes on his soup as the witcher and the sorceress smiled at each other. He  couldn’t help comparing the couple in front of him to his own relationship. He  didn’t want to think about  how  his own Yennefer  had stor med away from him. He still didn’t know how he was going to convince her that he hadn’t magically compelled her to love him. Clearly this Geralt had managed somehow.  _Probably the same way he managed to become the first obscenely wealthy witcher in_ _the world_ _,_ Geralt thought bitterly.  _Probably_ _the first_ _in_ both _worlds._

He felt Jaskier looking at him with concern, but ignored it. He’d meant what he told Jaskier, it really wasn’t that he _wanted_ to be rich, with a fancy estate to manage and enough armor and weapons to outfit half a dozen witchers. He _didn’t_ want all of this; even the idea made him uncomfortable. But the fact that he knew he didn’t have the choice if he _did_ want it rankled. He couldn’t buy even a modest house to settle down in and live like a normal man, as this Geralt had. The best he could hope for would be to live as a frequent guest in a house that Yen owned, assuming she ever forgave him.

He wondered if this was how Yen felt about losing her choice to bear children. If so, he now understood her desperation to reverse what Aretuza had done to her a lot better. He’d never particularly resented his own sterility, and both their lives were so unsuited to parenthood that he’d never understood why she was so obsessed with trying to undo what couldn’t be undone. But the _choice_ to have a home that belonged to him, a safe place of his own that he could come back to, that was a choice he could understand going to great lengths to regain, even if it wasn’t practical with his profession.

Jaskier nudged him with his shoulder, trying to get his attention without drawing the attention of the others at the table, but Geralt didn’t respond.  D oggedly he shoveled soup into his mouth, despite not being particularly hungry.  Jaskier would just start asking questions and he had no intention of having his discomfort dragged out and discussed in front of their temporary hosts. Jaskier would  probably  lower his voice, but  the bard ha d never really grasped how sensitive a witcher’s hearing actually was.

“Isn’t Ciri going to eat?” Dandelion’s voice broke into Geralt’s musings, startling him slightly.

“She’s still asleep; I’ll take something up to her when we’ve finished, and see if she wants to wake up long enough to eat.” Yennefer replied.

“Is she alright?” The other Geralt’s forehead creased with worry.

“She’s fine, love.” Yennefer patted the witcher’s hand soothingly. “Drained, but not dangerously so. It took a lot of energy, all of those attempts to find Jaskier’s world yesterday, and then everything she did today under so much pressure. Let her eat and sleep and she’ll be back to her usual self in no time.” she narrowed her eyes slightly, “You’d recover faster yourself if you stayed in bed like I told you to.”

“Maybe I need incentive to stay in bed?” The older witcher waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Y en nefer gave him a deeply unimpressed look. “I f you need incentive I will take your gwent cards hostage, don’t think I won’t.” Her face softened when the witcher pouted at her.  She put her hand over his on the table and laced their fingers together, “Try again when you’re not  about to fall asleep in your soup ,”  she said, more gently.

* * *

Jaskier kept an eye on his witcher, torn between concern and irritation. He'd seen the way Geralt's jaw clenched and his attention became glued to his bowl at the casual intimacy between the other Geralt and his Yennefer, and knew the witcher had found yet another thing to compare to their world and find his own situation lacking. Yennefer had pushed Geralt away shortly before Geralt pushed Jaskier, after all, though Jaskier didn’t know what the reason had been.

He fought down a surge of anger he knew Geralt didn’t deserve. He'd never understood why Geralt was so fixated on the sorceress, anyway. From the moment they met there was no one else for Geralt it seemed. Well, there had been others, but no one he talked about afterwards or pined for like he did Yennefer. And Jaskier could see no _reason_ for the witcher’s continued devotion. Their Yen wasn't like this one. This Yen was protective, affectionate, considerate, even doting... not words he'd ever apply to the Yen at home, who was a power-hungry, mentally unstable, ruthless _harpy_ _._

He stabbed his spoon into his soup a little harder than necessary, causing Geralt to briefly glance at _him_ in confused concern when the spoon thunked loudly against the bottom on the bowl. Soup was a deeply unsatisfying food to stab, he thought sourly.

Jaskier was self aware enough to know his hatred of Yennefer was mostly based in jealousy. Not necessarily of her physical relationship with Geralt, but over Geralt’s attention. When he and Geralt traveled together he was the only constant presence in the witcher's life, besides Roach. Even when Geralt was angry or frustrated with him, he paid more attention to Jaskier than to anyone else, simply because everyone else would be gone and forgotten in a week and Jaskier would still be there.

Except as soon as the sorceress appeared, nothing Jaskier could do would pull Geralt's attention away from her and back to himself, and he hated it. He always found himself making petty jabs at her character, trying to sour Geralt’s opinion of her, trying to push her away, trying to pull Geralt away, but it never worked and often just alienated the witcher even more.

Surreptitiously watching other side of the table, he observed that Dandelion didn’t seem at all bothered that the lovers weren’t paying attention to him. He was reading over the poetry he’d been writing earlier and ignoringeverything else.

His pouting was interrupted by a sudden loud scream. Jaskier jumped, and Geralt’s hand flew towards his sword, but the other Geralt and Yennefer were halfway up the stairs before he finished the movement and Jaskier realized it must be Ciri screaming. He anxiously looked at the stairs and then at Dandelion, who hadn’t moved beyond his initial flinch, wondering what they should do.

Dandelion sighed and his mouth twisted down. “Nightmares,” he explained briefly. “Ciri has a lot of them, and so does Geralt. I assume Yennefer does as well, but I’ve never heard them. They’re always worse after something like this happens.”

Geralt nodded, accepting the explanation without surprise. He relaxed and went back to his soup.

“Things like this happen to you often?” Jaskier asked incredulously.

Dandelion made a so-so motion with his hand. “We used to be embroiled in some horrible crisis more often than not, but not as much lately. I suppose the last major emergency was two, two and a half years ago when Geralt almost bled to death after killing a vampiress who was using the local orphanage as a blood bank.”

“Oh, that’s disgusting!” Jaskier screwed up his face.

Dandelion nodded in fervent agreement. “She was a bruxa, and one of the local nobility. The duchess was _not_ pleased when she found out the city’s favorite philanthropist was a vampire, but she paid to have her killed anyway.”

Geralt huffed a humorless laugh, “Nobility are never pleased.” He put his spoon down and pushed back his chair, “I’m going back outside.”

Dandelion watched him go, looking guilty. “I forgot he didn’t want to hear any specifics about our lives, I shouldn’t have said so much.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that. He’s grumpy because this Geralt is rich and has a nice version of Yennefer, and he’s penniless and his Yennefer is a shrew.” He knew he wasn’t being quite fair, but he was still tired despite his nap, and annoyed that even a world away Yennefer could make Geralt sad. He didn’t want Geralt to be sad. He wanted his friend to be happy. Preferably because he’d wised up, moved on, and stopped moping about a certain witch who seemed to cause him nothing but misery.

Dandelion looked pained. “Look, Jaskier. I know- I know what things look like right now. Or at least I have a good idea. But don’t poke your nose into their relationship. You’ll only make things worse for everyone, including yourself.”

Jaskier sighed, “You don’t have to tell me, I already know. I just can’t seem to resist picking fights with her, even though it backfires on me every time. She doesn’t even have the decency to take me seriously as a threat.”

“It’s fortunate for you she doesn’t. If she did think you stood in her way, she’d likely have turned you into a lawn ornament or dropped you in the ocean.” Dandelion pointed out.

Jaskier grimaced. “You’re right and I know it. It’s just so _hard_ to watch him go back to her over and over again when she always ends up making him miserable.”

Dandelion didn’t look sympathetic. “He let _you_ keep traveling with him even though you often made him miserable, didn’t he? I wouldn’t resent his capacity for forgiveness if I were you.”

Jaskier groaned and bent forward to rest his head on the table. “Couldn’t he have fallen for someone less _difficult?”_

Dandelion huffed a laugh. “Do you think Geralt would ever have fallen so hard for someone who _wasn't_ difficult sometimes?”

“You have a point,” Jaskier said, not lifting his head, “You have several excellent points. I don’t have to _like_ it, though.”

“I’m not telling you to like it,” Dandelion picked up his pen and went back to his poem, effectively ending the conversation, “I’m telling you to get used to it. Those two were made for each other, there’s no point in making things more difficult for them than they are already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The big difference in the wish between the books and the show is that in the show Yennefer is (understandably) angry because she thinks Geralt's secret wish tied her to him. In the books, Yennefer hears Geralt's wish as he makes it, and is amazed that he would tie *himself* to *her.* So. Different perspective there. Game Yen has the whole thing about breaking the wish because she wants to know if their relationship is real, (which I hate because it's so out of character) but once the wish is broken she's happy, so the end result is the same: Yen doesn't feel tied to Geralt against her will.
> 
> Jaskier's opinion of Geralt and Yen's relationship doesn't match my own. I don't personally ship Geralt/Jaskier or Geralt/Dandelion (though I understand why people do) but there's no question in my mind that Jaskier is terribly jealous and resentful of Yennefer, and I think that makes him view their relationship more harshly than it deserves. In Rare Species Jaskier's downright nasty to Yen and wants Geralt away from her, but his calling her a monster and making slights against her honor only makes Geralt mad at him, and Yennefer obviously just sees him as a minor nuisance, not a threat. Jaskier nags Geralt to leave so much- specifically because of Yennefer, because he was all for the trip before she showed up- that his cliffside invitation to go away, which is the only time in the whole show I think he was genuinely concerned for Geralt, just sounds to Geralt like another try at getting him to leave Yen. 
> 
> Dandelion and Yennefer canonically hated each other through the short stories as well and only come to an understanding during the novels, so Dandelion does understand where Jaskier's coming from on this point, sorta, he just knows better by now.
> 
> I don't know if any of this is coherent, sorry if it isn't.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter! I've been so happy with the response to this, thanks to everyone who made me feel a little less alone in my opinions about the Netflix show, and special thanks to Stressedspidergirl for the beta! (Although I also rewrote parts of this one after the beta reading was done, so any strangeness is my fault)

Ciri woke up slowly, the familiar sounds and scents of Corvo Bianco filtering gradually into her awareness. She was still exhausted, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until she’d seen Geralt, safe and sound. She’d gone straight to bed once she’d gotten them home, not even able to stay awake long enough to see Geralt’s wounds tended. She knew Yennefer would take care of him, or send for a healer from Beauclair if it was beyond her skill.

Vaguely she remembered having a nightmare and both of her parents coming to check on her, so presumably Geralt wasn’t too badly injured. She still wanted to see for herself.

She got out of bed and slumped heavily down the stairs. Dandelion was at the table, calmly using a candle to set fire to a stack of papers, one by one. Ciri recognized the notes Jaskier had left behind and decided not to ask.

“Where are Geralt and Yennefer?” she asked him, “Is Geralt all right?”

“He’ll be fine; they’re around the side of the house by the garden.” Dandelion gave her a longsuffering look. “They’re doing that ridiculous playacting they do. Yennefer’s hovering, but pretending to be very annoyed, and Geralt’s complaining about witchers not needing such coddling but looks perfectly content to sit there and be fussed over. You know what they’re like.”

“Does Yennefer know you’re burning those on the dinner table?”

“If she hasn’t killed Geralt yet for working on his bombs at the table and blowing a hole in the wall that one time, she won’t mind a little bit of ash,” Dandelion said loftily.

“She didn’t kill Geralt, but I think she likes Geralt a little bit more than she likes you.” Ciri laughed as Dandelion’s face fell in dismay. “Where are Jaskier and his Geralt?”

“Still down in the stable, I think,” Dandelion said, trying to scrape the ash off the table into his cupped palm.

“When you finish with that, go tell them I’m ready to take them home,” Ciri told him and left the house, leaving Dandelion to try to clean up his act of ritual destruction. She went around to the garden, looking for her parents.

Geralt was reclining half propped up on Yennefer’s chaise longue, while Yennefer sat in a chair drawn up close, one hand holding Geralt’s and the other holding a book, which she was reading out loud. Ciri couldn’t see the cover, but it was likely one of Yennefer’s cheap romances, judging by the way the two of them were both laughing and wincing.

“Ciri!” Geralt spotted her and waved her over, moving his legs to the side so she could sit on the end. “Your mother is keeping me imprisoned!” He sounded delighted by the idea.

“Oh no! And in spite of all your obvious efforts to escape, whatever will you do?” Ciri asked dryly, sitting down. “I sent Dandelion to get Jaskier and the other Geralt, so I can take them home.”

“Are you sure?” Geralt looked at her in concern, “If you need to rest more, they’ll survive the wait.”

“I’m not exactly bursting with energy,” she admitted, “but I’ll sleep better once I know everything’s taken care of and I can relax.”

“I trust you know better than to take foolish risks, Ciri,” Yennefer’s tone indicated she was rather overstating her confidence on that point, “but as soon as it’s done I want you both back in bed.”

Dandelion came around the corner of the house with Jaskier and his Geralt.

“I’m ready to take you home if you’re ready to go,” she called to their visitors.

“We’re ready,” the other Geralt declared firmly, without waiting for Jaskier to answer.

Jaskier pouted, but nodded agreement, “I don’t want to say goodbye so soon, but if we must, we must.”

Dandelion reached out and pulled the younger Geralt into a hug. “Take care of yourself, Geralt,” he said, “and good luck on the Path.”

“Thanks, Dandelion.” Younger-Geralt’s voice was a bit thick from suppressed emotion. “It was nice meeting you.”

Jaskier smiled at Ciri’s Geralt, somewhat guiltily, “Well. I can’t say it’s all been very nice, but I _am_ glad I got to meet you. Thank you for everything. I’m sorry I was such an ass.”

Geralt dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Good luck, Jaskier. I hope things go well for you.”

The two Geralts looked at each other awkwardly.

Older-Geralt started to say something, then seemed to change his mind and paused for a moment. “Thank you for looking after Dandelion,” he finally said, “I think that’s all I want to say.”

“Thank you for looking after Jaskier,” Younger-Geralt returned, then shrugged, “Nothing else I really want to say in return, either. Except maybe, good luck on the Path.”

“Good luck on the Path, witcher.” Older-Geralt responded.

Ciri smiled and held out her hands for their two visitors to grab hold. She took one last look at her parents, sitting hand in hand with Dandelion beside them, then she closed her eyes and focused as firmly as possible on where she wanted to go.

She’d been surprised when trying to locate Jaskier’s world how much harder it was to find a separate sphere with a similar timeline than it was to move around within the timeline of her own world, or between entirely dissimilar spheres. In her first several attempts, she had come out next to other versions of Dandelion, in other worlds that were similar to her own or Jaskier’s, but not the same.

In one,she’d found an elderly Dandelion who’d burst into hysterical tears the moment he saw her. In his world, Ciri had taken Geralt and Yennefer away after their deaths in Rivia, and none of them had ever returned. He’d been left to grieve alone for decades.

In another, she’d found a world where a middle-aged Jaskier told her that Geralt had never taken her to Kaer Morhen to be trained at all. Instead he had rejected the witcher’s Path for good and fled with her child-self into the mountains beyond even Nilfgaard's reach. They had lived in peace in a non-human community with Jaskier ever since.

The worst had been the world where a dead-eyed Dandelion eerily similar to her own had described their family breaking apart. His Ciri now ruled both the north and south as Empress of Nilfgaard, a colder and more terrifying tyrant than Emhyr var Emreis had ever been. Yennefer had gone back to her political ambitions. Geralt, Dandelion told her reluctantly, had died alone on the Path at the claws of a monster only a few years later. His tone made it clear he thought Geralt had welcomed his death.

Ciri let the memories fade from her mind as she located the world she was aiming for. She couldn’t deny it had been fascinating, seeing glimpses of all those other versions of their lives playing out across the spheres, but with the Wild Hunt destroyed and the White Frost halted, she had little interest anymore in exploring other spheres simply for the sake of it.

Her Geralt was right, she could drive herself insane worrying too much about how her life might be better or worse than that of some other version of herself. All she needed to be satisfied was the knowledge that her family hadn’t been torn apart once again, and they would all be home together soon.

And another world, one where the Lion Cub of Cintra hadn’t yet met the witcher and the sorceress who would become her parents, would shortly have its own version of the white-haired witcher and his faithful companion the bard restored home.

Smiling, she stepped once more into the space between the spheres.

The End

* * *

Epilogue:

Dandelion hummed happily, glad to finally be back in his proper surroundings at the Chameleon. He’d enjoyed getting the chance to visit his friend at his home, but it got tiresome having to stay inside lest his presence provoke the Duchess’ wrath, and he’d spent far too many days before _that_ cooped up in an inn with the other Geralt.

He sat down at his desk, ready to dive back in to his latest masterpiece, sadly abandoned when he’d been dragged to the other world. Confused, he noticed a solid layer of papers spread out over the desk, which he was sure hadn’t been there when he left. Picking up the top sheet, he was confronted by song lyrics written in all-too-familiar handwriting.

The performance at the Chameleon Caberet that night was notable, as it was disturbed halfway through by unearthly shrieking coming from the upper stories.Among many curses, the phrases _“Her love’s as unfair as a crook?!”_ and _“Half-baked similes are the real crime!!”_ could be understood by the guests on the ground floor. Stories quickly spread that the building was haunted by the angry spirit of a man poisoned to death by his unfaithful lover’s baking, but the regular performers insisted it had just been their employer reacting badly to some new material.

~*~*~

“Really, Geralt, you have no idea how happy I am to be back home again! Parts of the other world were lovely, but the music! And the fashion! Horrible!” Jaskier looked around, before spying his satchel sitting on the table. “Ah-ha! There you are! I have missed you so much!” He pulled his papers out and frowned, seeing unfamiliar handwriting covering the pages. “What’s this?”

Geralt suddenly looked very shifty, “We probably ought to be leaving, I’m running low on coin from staying here with Dandelion so long. I’ll just go get Roach-”

“Geralt!” Jaskier brandished the vandalized notes, “What happened to my notes?!”

Geralt winced. “Ah. That. Well. Dandelion was bored, and he kept picking fights with the other bards that came though, so to keep him entertained I let him look through your notes,” the witcher winced, “And he wasn’t very pleased about being stuck here, so he may have written you quite a lot of. Um. Feedback.”

Jaskier stared at him in horror, before shuffling through the his notes, briefly skimming the many rude notes scribbled in the margins.

“There’s some letters, too. There, on the desk.” Geralt pointed out, helpfully.

Jaskier’s angry screeching got them tossed out of the Pensive Dragon for causing a disturbance. Geralt seemed oddly pleased to leave it behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for clarity, Jaskier is screeching at the absent Dandelion, not at Geralt. :)


End file.
